Excerpt
From the Introduction
I never set out to become a professional poker player.
I was schooled at St. Pauls School, where my father taught English; Columbia University, where I majored in psychology and English literature, and the University of Pennsylvania, where, at twenty-six, I was nearing completion of a PhD in psycholinguistics.
The afternoon before I was scheduled to meet the academic committee for a job interview, I drove my Honda from Philadelphia to New York, to see my mother. She wanted to have a little pre-celebration for a future that was mine for the taking, an academic career that would ooze prominence and prosperity.
Once inside the apartment, suddenly, a dam burst. A simple tin trash can stood below my mothers desk; I leaned over and hurled into it, again and again. The diagnosis? I was afraid to grow up.
Thats when I ran away. Without a word of explanation, I fled to Montana, to marry a man I had never dated. And then, when money got tight and I felt beaten down by life in a leaky shack with minimal hot water, I got into my Honda and drove fifty-one frontier miles to the Crystal Lounge, in Billings. I sat down at the poker table, among thick- fingered cowboys and boozing rednecks, slipped off my shoes, tucked my bare feet under my butt, and as the dealer tossed me an Ace-Queen, I knew I was home.
This is where my life begins.