Next Steps Newsletter

It is beautiful in Idaho this winter. The snow is crystalline, and the skies are so blue it hurts. I wake up before dawn for work calls and tap at my laptop while the gas stove hums and flickers near me in the living room. When I can, I kick on my boots and ski. In mid-December, I lugged my boxes down the three-and-a-half flights of stairs of my London flat on Upper Wimpole Street, where the famed Victorian poet Elizabeth Barrett lived during her illicit romance with Robert Browning.

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