In New York City, you have to walk with purpose. Know where you're going, and head toward it with confidence--or at least be good at faking it. (Whenever I think about navigating the streets, I hear Miss Jay Alexander's voice in my head telling me to "stomp it out.")

Someone last week asked me how I was so sure of myself. I let her in on a not-so-secret secret: I'm not all that sure. Like any good millennial, I waver between confidence and anxiety. I slap myself on the wrist when I make mistakes. I feel guilty all too often when I theoretically have nothing to feel guilty about at all.

But sometimes I worry that saying all of that is a way of shrinking behind other taller violets because I don't feel like I quite measure up. Or perhaps you all think I'm fishing for compliments. I'm not. Just ask my closest friends and they'll tell you how often I stress out about...well, everything.

That doesn't mean I know I haven't worked hard. I know that it wasn't just luck that brought me where I am. But that also doesn't mean I don't question whether I'm heading (stomping?) in the right direction from time to time.

Again--no resolution here. I feel like these daily blog posts, while difficult, have been cathartic in some way for me to unleash all of my anxieties and freak outs so that when the autumn rolls around, I'll feel refreshed.

"Just keep swimming, just keep swimming..."