I Run These Towns

I never wanted to be a lawyer. As a matter of fact my entire life I wanted to be a journalist. I love writing, and in 8th grade announced that I would be Chris Berman when I grew up (which I gleefully told Chris Berman in person when I met him a few years ago but had to confess I wasn't him; I was just a civil servant). I majored in journalism, but I immediately fell in love with my political science courses. At the end of my freshman year I decided to add PoliSci as a double major.  My course load was heavy, trying to earn two degrees. Early in my junior year I found I really wasn't enjoying journalism, and I dropped that major to focus on political science. I joined the debate team, filled with political science majors, and pondered what I was going to be when I grew up. The middle of my senior year dawned, and I had no idea what was next. I applied to both law school and graduate school because I needed to continue my education to remain on my parents' health insurance (

As a Type A perfectionist, failing is not an option. Of course failure is a part of life, so when I do fail it hits me hard. I tend to beat myself up and dwell on it even though I realize that's not productive. I decided to stare failure in the face and write a series of blogs about what I consider to be some of my most memorable (and for me traumatic) failures and the lessons I've learned as a result. It's hard to admit some of these things, so I'm going to start with something that may seem silly, but it's what I recall as one of my first failures. I loved cheerleading from a very young age. I was on my first cheerleading squad in 2nd grade (Go Madison Colts!) and cheered until I graduated from high school. For me cheerleading wasn't what it is for many of my friend's kids now: this random competition circuit with inappropriately tiny uniforms, make up and "cheer curls". I was an extremely active kid and loved learning cheers and cheering at game

Two weekends ago we lost our 16-year-old cat. We also got a puppy so it was a weekend of a lot of emotion, but Ellie left this world the way she lived in it: quietly and sweetly. In early 2005 I was out of town, and my brother was feeding my cats. My male cat, Truman, unexpectedly passed away (he was only 5), and I decided I wasn't going to get another cat. When I got home, however, my Daisy was walking around my apartment mournfully crying. After a few weeks of all the crying I decided I would get her another friend.  I found a beautiful, long-haired, grey, 6-month-old cat at a rescue, and I decided I'd adopt her. I picked her up from her foster home, brought her back to my apartment, and she didn't come out from under my couch for two days. She was quiet, shy, and a bit skittish, but after a few months she was quite at home. She loved to lie in the sun in the front window of my first floor apartment, greeting the UPS delivery driver and all of my neighbors. She would stre