Born in 1966, I came of age at the dawn of a revolution. The past was gone; we would move on and get over it!

I loved to press the shutter, to freeze time, to turn little slices of life into rectangle rife with metaphor.

I am nothing if not rational about what is worthy of my anxiety and what is not, and I refuse to live my life as if a giant bus is just around the corner, waiting to crush me the minute I step off the curb.

I sell my first book to Random House, a memoir of my years as a war photographer, for twice my NBC salary.

Photography forces one out into the world, interacting with people and the environment. It flexes all those right brain, spatially-adept muscles.

My husband and I were born three weeks apart, and our plan had always been to throw a joint party for our 40th birthdays.

Id always assumed that by 40 Id have at least a modicum of stability - a steady income, an established career, a bountiful fullness, like a pillow into which I could sink as I entered the second half of my life.