between authenticity and schmaltz
At the microphone, a woman with cropped hair and suspenders put her hands to her chest. “My love for you, Cheryl,” she said, “is a secret message between my heart and yours.”
Cheryl put a hand to her own chest, her face lit, eyes crinkling.
This was the start of the question and answer session between us–mostly young women in late-fall trench coats and boots–and Cheryl Strayed of the Pacific Crest Trail, of drug addiction and recovery after her mother’s early death from cancer, of cutting wisdom and wit which had inspired an almost cult-like adoration for her among the lot of us in the D.C. synagogue.
The next woman approached the microphone with a similar outpouring of adoration. And–despite our moderator’s admonition that we should “just ask the question, please,”–the flow of vignettes did not stop. “I found you when I Googled ‘best book to read after a breakup,’” one woman said.