Because I’m a narcissist, sometimes I think I’m the most interesting person on the planet or at least in New York City, and that I should write a book because everyone deserves to hear my witty stories.
Then I see someone on an exercise bike next to the fruit stand, and I realize I’m not even the most interesting person on my block.
Need more proof?
I’m a journalist, content strategist, doting auntie, amateur bobsledder, fitness enthusiast, and wannabe health nut (who loves chocolate and pizza too much to fully commit). I don't want you to think my life is perfect. It's not.