Last night, I went to see one of my favorite authors — and also sort of my own personal Dalai Lama, whose writing helped me pull through this particularly difficult summer — speak at the New York Public Library. She was exactly as I had expected, with the same calming beauty and grace and the exact soothing voice I imagined.
At the end of the event, she read this Dear Sugar column out loud to the audience and I cried. When I met her afterward and she signed my book, I couldn’t say too much because I knew if I did, I’d cry again. I’m not even a big crier, usually — I swear! But for me, it was probably the equivalent of Jesus standing a few yards away, reading the Bible out loud, as odd and creepy as that may sound. The closest thing I have to a religion is reading and I guess that makes demigods out of the writers who mean a lot to me.