How a leap of faith landed one harpist on the beach.
—by Elizabeth Joy“You want to do what?” my boss asks, shooting me a disapproving glance.
“I am moving to Hawaii to be a professional harpist,” I say.
His brow furrows. “‘Starving artist’ isn’t just an expression, you know. When you come back, come work for us again.”
I flash the most genuine of fake smiles and thank him, gather my belongings, and never look back.