My fifteen-year-old daughter, Mira, is taking a summer writing class online. Taught by the writer Erica Cardwell, the class is called “Writing the Self.” Mira and I are both won over by the course description: “Imagine: ‘The Essay’ is a body of water – far-flung and teeming into the distance. And you, the writer, are alone on shore. Will you enter the water? And if so, how will you swim? Or will you stand on shore as the water splashes against your ankles?”

“I wish I could take this class,” I tell Mira.