Commentary
In 1998 I moved to Los Angeles, California, and like many young women, I had dreams of something bigger than the small-town life I had experienced up until then. I had a desire to rebel against my rather strict upbringing in Scranton, Pennsylvania, and conservative education in rural Virginia. I didn’t want to “go to school, get a job, get married, have kids” and put them in a nice house with a white picket fence. I didn’t want to shuffle them to soccer practice and dance classes in a Range Rover. How boring. I wanted to be free.
I packed up my four-door powder blue Ford Taurus with the shifter on the right side of the wheel and rallied a friend to drive west with me from Birmingham, Alabama. The dread of another day behind a desk in a 9-5 job was intolerable. Four days later, I arrived at my apartment across from CBS Studios in West Hollywood. I was clueless and jobless, and intentionally disconnected from any past that could define me. I was searching for something without knowing what that something was. I was perfect fodder for the progressive agenda….