For years I loved reading books about women who left their mundane and confining lives behind to re-establish themselves in unfamiliar territory, from the snow drifts of Sweden to the dust of eastern Texas, the islands of the Mediterranean, or the cafes of Paris. Each left something important behind and emerged, transformed. I envied their transformations, thinking my life too set, too happy for such a brutal awakening. Perhaps this is why it took me so long to recognize the Fool’s precipice at my feet, and then to knowingly and intentionally leap off the edge. I forgot my literary lessons. I forgot that on the way down, you grow wings.