I’m living in “The Mary Tyler Moore Show.”

Sometimes, I feel like I am the lead character on “The Mary Tyler Moore Show.”

I am that single woman in her 30s who is somewhat independent, but still unsure.

The one who finds herself in the strangest situations, most of the time of her own making.

The one who walks into coffeeshops, skids across the floor on her high heels, and recovers with a big smile and a “Hey, how are you?’ to the entire place. (Yep, that happened this morning.)

I hate conflict, believe fiercely in working hard and doing my best, and acknowledge I’m sometimes naive and innocent.

People sometimes think I’m quiet and meek, easily run over because I strive to be genuine, genial, and kind. But they overlook the fire and passion that burns beneath the surface. I will fight to the death for the things I believe in and the people I love.

And sometimes, when I arrive at work, I won’t lie: I hum “You’re going to make it after all” to myself.

And after several weeks of general awfulness with work stuff, I think I’m going to.

And now I have to go toss a hat up in to the air.


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