Not long ago, someone asked me what I did for a living. My family and I were at a festival. It was casual. Nothing formal, and the question came naturally enough. For years, I would have qualified my answer. I would say, “I’m a professor.” Or, “I’m a teacher.” Only occasionally would I add, “Yeah, I also write books.” All technically true, but also slightly evasive.

This time, though, for some reason, I instinctively said, “I’m an author.”

There was a spike of anxiety immediately after I said it—almost a reflexive response to the words. I mentally qualified it. I wanted to soften it, contextualize it, explain it. But I didn’t. I let the sentence stand.