Whenever DC rent is breaking my heart, I read Zadie Smith’s a “Find Your Beach,” to remind myself why I live here. Zadie Smith points out that even though many of the creatives have left Manhattan, the energy from  “money-making and tower-building” still drive her to write.

DC doesn’t literally build towers. Height restrictions. But it does build legacies. The energy that drives DC comes from a critical mass of people who were the smartest kid in the class. We live together in a few square miles and compete for the best intellectual jobs in government, think tanks, nonprofits, and the media. The college students who fell in love with Obama grew up to work for him. “I’m with the Administration,” they say.  And DC doesn’t care about looking cool while it’s trying to rule the world. Bar trivia turns into a blood sport.

I absorb the ambition of my peers like I sunbathe. I tap into my reserve whenever I feel myself wavering. And where is there greater abundance of “a sociopathic illusion of limitlessness” than Washington, DC, where everyone wants to be President?