When the train pulls into the station, I walk two blocks west to Dr. Rosen’s office. Up ahead, I see the new guy who joined our group a year ago. He’s in his midthirties, a brilliant physician who speaks six languages, and is sick and tired of being alone. He has no close friends in Chicago to hang out with on the weekends, and his specialty is falling for women who ghost him after the second date. In group, he despairs that nothing will change his lifelong patterns. He fears he will never have a family of his own, that it’s too late for him. I borrow the moves of my group mates, who consoled me for so many years. I pat his arm when he shares the pain about yet another woman who won’t return his texts. I say soothing things when he reports doing something he didn’t want to do to win the affection of a woman who isn’t available. I’ve been there. I did that too. Have you heard about the dirty dick I sucked? I answer his calls on Sunday afternoons or Tuesday nights when he buckles under the weight of his loneliness. I tell him I have no doubt he is in the process of transforming his life. In group, when Dr. Rosen assures him that coming to group and sharing himself is enough, he looks at me, and I nod my head.
“I promise. It’s enough.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
When I was writing this book (and the four others that live in my computer), I thought of “the publishing industry” as a group of terribly fancy New Yorkers with Anna Wintour bangs and clothes from Barneys or boutiques I’d never heard of and could not pronounce. I never pictured the faces or bodies or hearts of the people I hoped would one day open the gates for me. Now I will never picture publishing without thinking of the hearts and minds that have touched this book and changed my life forever. Their minds are sharp, their hearts generous. And they poured them both into this book during a harrowing, uncertain time for the entire planet. They also have names. Thank you to Lauren Wein for the thoughtful editing and all the ways you saved me from some very poor choices, particularly in the sex scenes. Thank you to Amy Guay, Meredith Vilarello, Jordan Rodman, Felice Javit, Morgan Hoit, and Marty Karlow for bringing your hard work and expertise to the book.
Thank you to Amy Williams, who always makes me laugh while also wearing so many hats: agent, big sister, mother, friend, fellow traveler. I’m so blessed to have you on my team.
This book would not exist without the oceans of love and support from Lidia Yuknavitch and her Corporeal Writing program. The writers whose understanding of story and body changed the course of this book and my life include these midwives: Mary Mandeville, Tanya Friedman, Lois Melina Ruskai, Anne Gudger, Jane Gregorie, Anne Falkowski, Emily Falkowski, Kristin Costello, Helena Rho, and Amanda Niehaus. Special heart shout-out to Zinn Adeline, who gently contributed her careful reads and incisive comments, especially the one about how my jokes were distracting from the real story.
Thank you to Tin House for pairing me with the generous and talented Jeannie Vanasco in Winter 2019. And special thanks to my workshop mates: Wayne Scott, Sasha Watson, Melissa Duclos, and Kristine Langley Mahler.
To my favorite soul sister who inspires me every single day as a writer, mother, daughter, wife, podcast creator, lawyer, and all-around baller: Carinn Jade.
Way back in the day, I started writing online with a group of mad-capped writers who taught me about voice, hooks, arcs, and aspects of the craft that I felt in my bones but had been too scared to practice. Thanks to the Yeah Write crew: Erica Hoskins Mullinex, William Dameron, Mary Laura Philpot, and Flood. Thanks to my early writing groups who had to slog through some pretty tortured drafts: Sara Lind, Samantha Hoffman, and Mary Nelligan.
Gratitude is not a debt, but I can’t help but feel like I owe so much to the writers and friends who read drafts of this book, some of them more than once: Krista Booth, Amy Liszt, Andrew Neltner. You’re saints, you really are. Joyce Polance read multiple drafts and was always game for a conversation about the pain and ecstasy of trying to get a story right. This book wouldn’t exist without her generosity, support, and wisdom. Frank Polance is pretty swell too.
I’m grateful to all the babysitters we had through the years whose labor made it possible for me to write this book. Thank you to Sabrina, Tiffani, Christian, Brittney, Molly, Hailey, Mattie, Kathi, Dayane, and Gesa.
Thank you to Irvin Yalom, whose life work make it possible for a woman like me to get help in group therapy and then tell the world about it.
Special thanks to Marcia Nickow, Psy.D., who read an early draft and urged me to keep going. Sara Connell’s commitment to and belief in the power of writing brought immense pleasure and joy to the final stages of this project. Eternal gratitude to Dr. Dana Edelson for taking time off from saving people’s lives to help me proofread this book.
I’m pretty sure my therapist knows I’m grateful, but I’ll say it again: I gave you enough money over the years to buy a deluxe yacht, but you gave
