Writing is just one manifestation of this tension, this nagging, lifelong struggle to be you or be perfect -- to live a messy, real, vulnerable life, or an edited one. In writing, you get to arrange things just so, like a museum curator piecing together the perfect exhibit.
In October of last year, I was no longer able to deny a long-developing internal shift, and promptly left my rather high-powered career to figure out what my next passion was. Walking out of the office that day with no real plan, I'd never been more scared. Now, I've never been more liberated.