Image Credits: Iron & Lace for Camp Climb Summer camp for the young me was this: wet socks drying on hickory branches. Cold Dr. Pepper from the canteen. Legs dangling from the top balcony of Amity Hall, lost in a continual conversation with stars and the dirt beneath.
It happened like this. I went to bed last week with a voice – albeit a throaty, hoarse one – and I woke without one. I was in Austin, scheduled to keynote a conference with a gaggle of women who I simply couldn’t wait to meet. They were “Me, too” women – the kind that