“I have faith in you,” I told her. “You’re smart and creative and intuitive. You’ll find the angle.” “Thanks.” Her voice grew softer. “I remember when I wanted to drop out of Brown and go to culinary school. Everyone told me I was crazy except you.” “I wanted you to do what makes you happy.” “I know. I appreciated that. Most people just brought up the money—didn’t I realize I’d never make a doctor’s salary working in a restaurant?” She mimicked the voices of those who’d doubted her judgment.
