Last week marked my company's annual retreat in NYC, which meant I had the delightful honor of meeting up with my agent, Sharon Pelletier of Dystel, Goderich, and Bourret Literary Management on a cold evening in the Flatiron district. We had a great conversation about families, stories, and book clubs--of which we are both card-carrying members. It was truly a joy to meet her. We've been working together for years, and I was caught up in chatting that I totally forgot to have the waiter document the momentous occasion with an agent-author picture. Regardless, it was the best start to a great five days in the city, where I had dinner at Eataly with my oldest and dearest friend, marveled at window displays in their full holiday-season glory, confirmed that the Tiffany's bathroom is still the best, drank approximately 80 venti coconut milk lattes, had my performance review sitting at the table where Mark Twain used to play cards, proudly wore faux fur, lost the most beautiful snow globe of all time to the TSA at JFK airport, and cried in the airport.