The Fall
On the morning of April 6, 2007, Arianna Huffington rose from her desk to get a sweater — she was cold, that's all — and the floor came up to meet her. Her head struck the corner of the desk on the way down, breaking her cheekbone, opening a gash above her right eye that would require four stitches. She woke in a pool of her own blood. She was fifty-six years old, the co-founder and editor-in-chief of a media company growing at a rate that made it the envy of digital journalism, a single mother of two teenage daughters, and she had been running on four to five hours of sleep for longer than she could afterward reconstruct. What followed was two weeks of medical pilgrimage — brain MRI, CAT scan, echocardiogram — the doctors probing for a tumor, a cardiac anomaly, some hidden mechanical failure that would explain why a woman who appeared to be the embodiment of American success had simply crumpled. There was nothing wrong with her. Or rather: everything was wrong with her, but none of it showed up on a scan. "If this was a movie," she later said, "I would've had all the doctors in one room in their white coats basically giving me the diagnosis: 'Arianna, you are suffering from civilization's disease, burnout. There is nothing we can do for you. You have to change your life.'"
The fall is where almost every profile of Huffington begins, and she has told it so many times — on stages, in books, to Tim Ferriss, to Oprah, to Reid Hoffman, to graduating classes at Smith and Vassar and NYU — that it has acquired the polished contours of parable. But what makes it interesting is not the collapse itself, which is banal in its mechanics (exhaustion plus gravity), but the chain of reinventions it catalyzed in a woman whose entire life had been a series of reinventions so audacious they strain credulity. Conservative commentator to progressive crusader. Greek immigrant to Cambridge Union president. Socialite wife of a Republican congressman to independent gubernatorial candidate to digital media pioneer. And now, at the precise moment her creation was becoming one of the most powerful media brands on the internet, she began constructing the argument that the terms on which she had built it were fundamentally wrong.
If you had asked her that morning how she was, she would have said fine. "Because I had forgotten what being fine really was," she told Ferriss in 2018. "Being perpetually tired had become the new normal." The insight is deceptively simple, and it would become the foundation of the next decade of her career: that the most dangerous form of self-deception is not the lie you tell yourself but the truth you stop being able to perceive.
By the Numbers
The Huffington Empire and Beyond
$315MAOL's acquisition price for The Huffington Post (2011)
15Books authored, from biography to wellness
100M+Monthly unique visitors at HuffPost's peak
$21MHuffington's personal take from the AOL sale
200+Organizations using Thrive Global's platform across 160+ countries
1972Year she graduated from Cambridge with an M.A. in Economics
37Publisher rejections for her second book, After Reason
The Mother Algorithm
To understand Arianna Huffington, you must understand Elli Stassinopoulos, who is the key to everything. Elli was half-Russian, half-Greek, never went to university, and was entirely self-taught in philosophy and spiritual traditions. She had met her husband, Konstantinos — a Greek journalist who had been imprisoned in a Nazi concentration camp for publishing an underground newspaper during the occupation — in a sanatorium, where he was recovering from internment and she from tuberculosis. It was the kind of origin story that belongs in a Dostoevsky novel: two people broken by history, finding each other in a place of mending. The marriage produced two daughters, Arianna and her younger sister Agapi, before Konstantinos's serial philandering drove Elli to separate from him. They never formally divorced.
What Elli built from the wreckage was extraordinary. In a cramped one-bedroom apartment at 9 Mourouzi Street, near Syntagma Square in Athens, the kitchen became a seminar room. Long discussions about Greek philosophy at the table. Yoga and meditation in the 1960s, when such things were exotic even in California, let alone Greece. She taught her daughters to meditate at thirteen — enlisting, improbably, the Maharishi Mahesh Yogi himself, who happened to be passing through Athens. When Agapi brought home a bad school report, Elli gave her flowers: "So you're not meant to be a mathematician. Never mind, you're an artist." When a stranger admired the necklace she was wearing, she took it off and gave it away. "It's not a trade, darling," she told the astonished woman, "it's an offering."
The philosophy Elli imparted to her daughters was not a set of aphorisms but an operating system. Its core instruction: "Failure is not the opposite of success. It's a stepping stone to success." The corollary: unconditional love, decoupled from achievement. You could try anything, fail at everything, and come home to the same warmth. This was not permissiveness — Elli was fierce about education, relentless in her advocacy for her daughters' ambitions — but it created a particular kind of fearlessness. The kind that allows you to absorb thirty-seven rejections for a book manuscript and walk into a bank to ask for a loan to keep writing. The kind that allows you to launch a political campaign you cannot win, a website the critics call a vanity project, a wellness company that sounds like a punch line until it doesn't.
Arianna has said that her parenting style is "identical" to her mother's, except she is "perpetually guilty" because she is "definitely not as good as she was." This is almost certainly false as self-assessment and almost certainly true as emotional reality. Elli Stassinopoulos is the ghost in the machine of Arianna Huffington's career — the woman who, when her fourteen-year-old daughter saw a photograph of Cambridge University in a magazine and declared she wanted to go there, didn't say don't be ridiculous, which is what everyone else said, but instead said, "Let's find out how you can get to Cambridge. I'm sure we can make that happen."
The Photograph and the River
The girl was fourteen. She spoke no English. Her family had no money. She lived in a country governed, as of 1967, by a military junta that imposed curfews and pointed guns at civilians on street corners. And she wanted to attend one of the most selective universities in the English-speaking world because she had seen a picture of it in a magazine.
Elli's response was to reverse-engineer the problem. She discovered that her daughter could sit for the General Certificate of Education examinations at the British Consul in Athens, then take a special Cambridge entrance exam, then apply for a scholarship. Three times a week, Arianna walked to the consulate for English lessons. She also needed to actually see the place — Elli understood this instinctively, years before anyone would have called it "visualization." She scraped together cheap airfare, and mother and daughter flew to London, took a train to Cambridge, and spent hours walking the grounds, looking at the colleges, having coffee in the coffee shops, watching the river. They visited no one. They had no meetings. They simply made the dream physical.
The strategy worked. Arianna won a scholarship to Girton College, Cambridge, where she would study economics. She arrived in England at sixteen, speaking halting English with a heavy Greek accent, standing five feet ten inches in a country where such height in a woman was merely unusual rather than, as it had been among her Athenian schoolmates, genuinely freakish. ("I was excluded from the school parade," she has recalled, "where they had the tallest girls, because I was too tall. I would stick out too much.") She was, by her own account, awkward, bespectacled, frizzy-haired, and bookish — an introvert who spent her time reading rather than socializing.
What happened next was either predestined or absurd, depending on your metaphysics. She became obsessed with the Cambridge Union, the debating society that had been a training ground for British prime ministers since the 1820s. She attended every debate, staying until the bitter end. She waited her turn to speak — usually last, sometimes at midnight. She was terrible, and she had the heaviest accent in the room. But she kept showing up, kept making notes, kept learning. She had no ambition to run for office in the Union; that seemed categorically beyond her reach. Until a friend, without Arianna's knowledge, put her name down for election to the standing committee. Arianna was mortified, tried to get her name removed, and was told it was too late — the ballots had already been printed. She was elected to the top of the standing committee. From there, the dominoes: secretary, vice president, president. She was the first foreign-born student and only the third woman to hold the position.
The election was front-page news. The Times. The Guardian. Photographs of this young Greek woman on the president's throne — that literal throne — in a debating chamber that had hosted Churchill, Keynes, and the Duke of Wellington. She was invited onto every television program in the country. And during one of the televised debates, a publisher named Reg Davis-Poynter, who had recently published Germaine Greer's The Female Eunuch, saw her speak and wrote to ask if she would write a book.
"I can't write," she wrote back.
"Can you have lunch?" he replied.
Over lunch, he offered her a modest advance — roughly £6,000. If she couldn't write, he said, he'd have lost the money. If she could, he'd publish the book. She dropped her acceptance to the Kennedy School of Government at Harvard. She was twenty-three years old.
I hadn't really thought of competing to be elected to an office at the Union. That seemed like not something I could ever achieve. The decision to learn to speak was very deliberate. The fact that I ended up becoming president of the Union was completely accidental.
The Rejections
The book was called The Female Woman, published in 1973, and its argument — that women should receive equal respect whether they chose careers or motherhood — was simple enough to seem unremarkable now and incendiary enough to provoke a firestorm then. This was the high tide of the Women's Liberation Movement, and the notion that a woman who voluntarily stayed home with her children was making a legitimate choice, rather than surrendering to patriarchal conditioning, was heresy. The book was a bestseller. Huffington was twenty-three, living in London, suddenly famous, and faced with the question that ambushes every young writer after an early success: What now?
She chose not to write about women again. Instead, she locked herself in her London apartment and wrote a book about political leadership called After Reason. She worked obsessively, writing into the early hours of the morning, certain she had produced something important. Then she submitted it to publishers. The first rejected it. The second rejected it. The tenth. The twentieth. The thirtieth. By rejection number thirty-seven, she had burned through the royalties from The Female Woman and was facing the prospect of a life that did not include writing.
"I started thinking that, hey, maybe the first book was a fluke, and I need to go get a real job," she told the CNBC Changemakers podcast decades later. "And I remember, literally, I lived in London at the time, walking down St. James's Street, kind of depressed, and seeing Barclays Bank on the corner." Something made her walk in. She met with a banker — she has never named him — and asked for a loan. He gave her one. She kept writing. After Reason was eventually published by a thirty-eighth publisher, to modest sales and little fanfare.
The episode is instructive not because thirty-seven rejections is a particularly large number (it is, but the literature of perseverance is full of such tallies) but because of what it reveals about the architecture of Huffington's relationship to failure. She does not romanticize it. She does not claim she was unafraid. She walked into that bank because she was afraid — afraid she was a fraud, afraid she would go broke — and the fear was real enough that she remembers the street, the corner, the name on the building. What her mother had given her was not immunity from fear but a cognitive framework in which fear and action could coexist. You could be terrified and still walk through the door.
The Man Who Wouldn't Marry
By the late 1970s, Huffington was living in London with Bernard Levin, the most celebrated newspaper columnist in England — a man twice her age and, as she has noted with characteristic precision, "half my size." Levin was brilliant, acerbic, widely feared, and deeply devoted to Arianna. He was also a writing mentor of enormous influence on her craft. They were together for seven years. But Levin was categorical on one point: he did not want children. "I don't want to have kids," he told her. "I only want to have cats."
Huffington was thirty. She knew she wanted children. And she knew herself well enough to understand that if she stayed in London, she would go back to him. So she did something that reveals the absolutism that runs beneath her surface warmth: she left not just the man but the country. In 1980, she moved to New York.
"Everything that happened to me after that," she told Tim Ferriss in 2018, "the rest of my work, launching The Huffington Post, having my two daughters — all of it happened, Tim, because a man wouldn't marry me and have children with me. It's good to remember that."
The comment is vintage Huffington — rueful, funny, containing a real insight wrapped in self-deprecation. But the decision was brutal. She walked away from the most important relationship in her adult life because the thing she wanted most was incompatible with the person she loved most. It is the act of someone who knows her own hierarchy of needs with terrifying clarity.
In New York, she had a biography of Maria Callas just published — a book that became a major bestseller and established her in American literary and social circles. She wrote more books. She did journalism. She moved to California. And in 1986, she married Michael Huffington, a Republican politician and oil millionaire. They had two daughters, Christina and Isabella. Michael won a seat in the U.S. House of Representatives in 1992; Arianna played a central role in his campaign. He ran for the Senate in 1994 and lost. They divorced in 1997, the year before Michael publicly came out as bisexual. (He had told Arianna in 1985, shortly after they met, he would later say.)
The marriage gave Arianna the Huffington name, two children, financial security, and an education in the mechanics of American politics. It also gave her a front-row seat to conservatism — she wrote for
National Review, supported Newt Gingrich, was positioned as a conservative foil to Al Franken on Comedy Central's 1996 election coverage. Then, in the late 1990s, she pivoted. Her opposition to U.S. intervention in the former Yugoslavia was the first public crack; her growing concern about corporate power and environmental destruction widened it into a chasm. By 2003, she was running for governor of California as an independent against
Arnold Schwarzenegger — "the hybrid versus the Hummer," she called it — before withdrawing to throw her support behind defeating the recall.
The political transformation has been interpreted variously as genuine evolution, opportunism, or the logical consequence of a mind that processes ideology the way it processes everything else: by consuming it, exhausting it, and moving on. Huffington's own explanation is characteristically unsentimental. She followed the evidence. The Republican Party she had believed in was not the Republican Party that existed. The pivot was not a betrayal of principle but an application of it.
The Blog and the Bloodstream
The Huffington Post was born at a party. It was late 2004, John Kerry had just lost the presidential election, and Huffington — by now a syndicated columnist, author of multiple books, failed gubernatorial candidate, and one of the most connected people in the Washington-New York-Los Angeles triangle — was hosting an evening at her $7 million Brentwood mansion. The conversation turned to the internet. A lot of the smartest commentary, she observed, was migrating online. But many of the people she most wanted to hear from — writers, actors, intellectuals, politicians — would never start blogs. The cliché of the era was that bloggers were lonely young men writing from their parents' basements. The form lacked prestige.
The idea that emerged was simple and, in retrospect, obvious: create a platform that would give those voices a place in the digital conversation without requiring them to learn WordPress or maintain a blog. "You wake up in the morning and you have something to say," Huffington would tell potential contributors. "Sure, you could write it for The New York Times, but you have to deal with editors and processes. Just send it to us. Put it in an email and send it to me and we'll publish it exactly as you sent it to us and you'll have entered the cultural bloodstream."
The phrase is revealing. Not the marketplace. Not the discourse. The bloodstream. Huffington understood, before most media executives, that the internet was not a distribution channel but a circulatory system, and that what mattered was not where a piece was published but whether it moved through the body of the culture.
She co-founded the site with Kenneth Lerer, a former AOL Time Warner executive, and Jonah Peretti, who would later found BuzzFeed. They launched on May 9, 2005, with $2 million in initial funding. The first day's front page included posts from Nora Ephron, Walter Cronkite, Larry David, and Deepak Chopra — names that, in the blogosphere of 2005, were like a visitation from another world. Critics were savage. One reviewer compared the site to a combination of Ishtar, Heaven's Gate, and Gigli. A year later, that same reviewer emailed Huffington to ask if she could blog for the site. Huffington said yes.
It creates communities almost every single time it twitches. That's not what any of us thought it would do when it started.
The site grew with startling velocity. Huffington's Rolodex — that word keeps recurring in profiles of her, always capitalized, always preceded by the adjective "gold-plated" — was the engine. She was indefatigable in her solicitation of contributors, deploying what TIME's Belinda Luscombe described as compliments that functioned like "the social equivalent of a Tomahawk missile, launched in stealth at a heavily researched target and perilously difficult to defend against." But the real genius of the model was structural: the Huffington Post was simultaneously a platform for unpaid celebrity bloggers, a news aggregator that drew traffic from other outlets' reporting, and — increasingly — a journalistic operation in its own right, hiring reporters and editors to produce original work.
The economics were brutal for competitors and generous for Huffington. By 2009, the site had 8.9 million unique monthly users and a staff of fifty-five, twenty-eight of them editorial. The New York Times, by comparison, employed more than a thousand journalists. In February 2011, AOL acquired the Huffington Post for $315 million. Huffington became president and editor-in-chief of the Huffington Post Media Group, overseeing not just her site but AOL's entire content operation — Engadget, TechCrunch, Moviefone, MapQuest, Patch. "I want to stay forever," she told reporters. "The opportunities here are really endless."
She received approximately $21 million from the sale. She had invested none of her own money at the start and owned a 14 percent stake at the time of the transaction. The unpaid bloggers — roughly 18,000 of them — received nothing, which became a source of lasting controversy and, eventually, a class-action lawsuit.
The Compliment as Weapon
To watch Arianna Huffington work a room is to witness something that operates at the intersection of social intelligence and performance art. Tim Ferriss, who has observed her at close range, compared it to "watching Tom Brady playing football." The Guardian's Carole Cadwalladr, reporting from a queue for the ladies' lavatories at a corporate women's event in New York, watched Huffington distribute business cards to a woman who had forgotten her skirt, a woman who had flown in from Buffalo, and a bystander who had simply come in to use the bathroom — each receiving an invitation to write for HuffPost. "I love getting people to write things," Huffington told Cadwalladr. "I find stories everywhere."
The charm is not incidental to the career. It
is the career, or at least the fuel that makes it possible. Huffington built the Huffington Post not on technology or capital but on relationships — on the ability to make a phone call and get Nora Ephron to write about Deep Throat, or Larry David to invest after a pitch on a hiking trail in the Santa Monica mountains, or
Jeff Bezos to explain for Thrive Global why he sleeps eight hours a night. Her persuasion technique, as she describes it, is strikingly simple: find the overlap between what you want and what the other person wants. At a dinner, she pitched a famous designer on creating sleepwear not by explaining the wellness benefits but by noting that he "liked breaking rules and doing things differently."
The flip side of this virtuosity has been, at times, a blurring of the line between friendship and editorial independence. Vanity Fair reported that when the Huffington Post's media desk picked up a plagiarism story about her friend Fareed Zakaria in August 2014, Huffington was furious. According to a former editor, "That made her extremely angry" — never mind that the story was being covered across the digital landscape. The tension between Huffington's role as a connector and her role as a news executive was, in the judgment of multiple former staffers, never fully resolved.
But to focus on the liability is to miss the asset. Huffington is one of the very few media founders of the digital era who built a brand primarily through human connection rather than algorithmic insight or venture capital largesse. The Huffington Post was, at its core, a social network before the phrase existed — a mechanism for converting Arianna's friendships into content.
The Accent and the Emperor
There is a story Huffington tells about
Henry Kissinger that functions as a kind of parable about the uses of foreignness. She had long been self-conscious about her accent — so much so that her ex-husband gave her, as a birthday gift ("which you may consider a very passive-aggressive birthday gift," she notes), two weeks with Jessica Drake, one of Hollywood's premier dialect coaches, the woman who had coached Tom Hanks in
Forrest Gump. Drake followed Huffington everywhere, placing diphthong symbols on Dr. Seuss books so she could practice while reading to her children, putting Lifesavers on her tongue to train her vowel sounds. By the end, Huffington could identify everything she was doing wrong — and was completely paralyzed. "I could not really be an authentic, functioning human being and speak proper English."
She gave up. And soon after, she found herself talking to Kissinger about the problem. "He said, 'Arianna, give it up. In American public life, you can never overestimate the advantages of complete and total incomprehensibility.'"
The joke is funny. It is also true. The accent became an asset — a marker of difference that made Huffington memorable in rooms full of interchangeable American media personalities. But the deeper lesson is about the relationship between authenticity and performance. Huffington's power has always derived from the tension between the polished surface and the unpolished origin, between the Brentwood mansion and the one-bedroom apartment at 9 Mourouzi Street, between the Valentino and Prada she wears to her own parties and the Greek peasant girl who skips breakfast and eats eggs for lunch.
The Collision with Marcus Aurelius
In the weeks after the fall, in doctors' waiting rooms and hotel beds, Huffington went back to books she had loved and found a new one that became a kind of talisman. It was Marcus Aurelius's Meditations — the private journal of a Roman emperor who had faced "invasions and plagues and betrayals and an unfaithful wife" and remained, as Huffington put it, "imperturbable." She had the quote she loved most laminated and carries it with her:
People look for retreats for themselves in the country, by the coast, or in the hills. There is nowhere that a person can find a more peaceful and trouble-free retreat than in his own mind. So constantly give yourself this retreat and renew yourself.
What attracted her to Marcus Aurelius was not the
Stoicism per se but the fact that he was "in the arena." She had read Buddhist monks and Christian mystics. She wanted wisdom from someone who also had to answer emails. "That is a pretty big job," she said of being Emperor of Rome, with the deadpan delivery that makes even her philosophical observations feel like they belong at a dinner party.
The encounter with Marcus Aurelius catalyzed what became, over the following decade, a wholesale reorientation of her career. First came the behavioral changes: more sleep (from four to five hours to seven to eight), meditation every morning (thirty minutes minimum, sometimes two hours on weekends), an "artificial end" to the working day marked by placing all devices outside the bedroom. Then came the writing:
Thrive: The Third Metric to Redefining Success and Creating a Life of Well-Being, Wisdom, and Wonder, published in 2014, debuted at number one on the
New York Times bestseller list.
The Sleep Revolution: Transforming Your Life, One Night at a Time followed in 2016. Both books argued, with the relentlessness of a prosecuting attorney, that the prevailing culture's equation of success with exhaustion was not merely unhealthy but factually wrong — that the science unequivocally showed that sleep-deprived decision-making was degraded decision-making, and that the most successful people were increasingly the ones who understood this.
Then came the company. In August 2016, Huffington announced she was leaving the Huffington Post — the site she had called her "last act" — to launch Thrive Global, a behavior change technology company. "It was an illusion to think I could continue," she said, acknowledging that running both was unsustainable. Thrive's model was built on what Huffington calls "Microsteps" — "too small to fail" behavioral interventions backed by scientific research. The platform has since been adopted by employees at more than 200 organizations across 160 countries.
The Difficult Conversations
There is a speech Huffington gives to every new hire at Thrive Global. She has recounted it multiple times, in almost identical language, which suggests it is either rehearsed to the point of ritual or simply that important to her:
"I give you full permission to walk into my office and scream at me. But I want you to consider this as my last warning. If you complain about any of your colleagues behind their backs, you will be let go."
The policy is a repudiation of what Huffington considers the toxic norm of corporate life: the passive-aggressive complaint routed through HR, shrouded in anonymity, generating paranoia without resolution. "Relationships are not easy, whether they are work relationships or personal relationships," she told Ferriss. "We may upset each other. We may say something the other person takes the wrong way." The solution is not to avoid conflict but to have it directly, in real time, even while angry. "You don't have to figure out how to say it. You can say it while you are angry."
The irony — which Huffington would probably not concede — is that this philosophy of radical transparency sits in some tension with the relationship-driven management style that characterized her years at the Huffington Post, where the protection of friendships sometimes overrode editorial independence. Perhaps the Thrive policy represents a lesson learned. Perhaps it represents a different kind of organization — one built on wellness principles rather than celebrity access — that permits a different kind of leadership. Or perhaps Huffington simply understands that the same person can hold contradictory impulses and still function, which is, after all, a fairly Greek insight.
The Introvert's Paradox
Here is something that does not compute on first hearing: Arianna Huffington — the woman who built two media empires on the strength of her personal connections, who hosts salon-style dinners in her Brentwood mansion and her SoHo loft, who once got Nora Ephron, Walter Cronkite, and Gwyneth Paltrow to write for a website that didn't exist yet — is an introvert.
"I know it's hard to believe," she told Ferriss, "but I am an introvert. The reason I know that is that I've experienced every emotion in my life, including rage and fear and disappointment and everything you can imagine, but I have never experienced loneliness."
The distinction she draws is precise and, on reflection, convincing. She loves people. She loves bringing them together, introducing friends to each other, orchestrating connections. But she needs time alone to refuel, and she has never — not once — felt that she had too much of it. The social brilliance is a craft, practiced and refined over decades, not an emanation of temperament. It is performative in the best sense: deliberate, artful, sustained by discipline rather than need.
This explains something about her career that might otherwise seem contradictory. The woman who built a media empire by being the most connected person in any room she entered is the same woman who now runs a company devoted to the proposition that people need to disconnect. The two impulses are not in conflict. They are the systole and diastole of the same heart.
The Ongoing Reinvention
At seventy-five, Huffington shows no signs of deceleration. Thrive Global has expanded into AI-powered behavior change, partnering with organizations ranging from Eli Lilly to Samsung. She has written about the "longevity craze" in Silicon Valley with characteristic bluntness: "It's such a complete delusion that we're going to live forever. There's truly zero scientific evidence. How about instead of trying to live forever, trying to improve how you spend your day?" She has weighed in on politics — a 2024 TIME essay argued that elevating politics to a religion has eroded empathy and compassion, that "everything is political but politics isn't everything." She remains on the board of Uber. She reads Marcus Aurelius. She still meditates every morning, still charges her phone outside the bedroom, still eats eggs for lunch.
The reinventions, viewed in sequence, appear chaotic — conservative to progressive, socialite to media founder, media founder to wellness evangelist. But there is a through line, and it is not ideological. It is temperamental. "I'm the kind of person who throws herself into something and then it's done," she told The New Yorker in 1998. "It becomes repetitive." The pattern is consistent: total immersion, mastery, exhaustion of interest, departure. Each phase is inhabited so completely that it appears permanent. Each departure is so decisive that it appears sudden. But the rhythm is the same every time — the rhythm of someone for whom curiosity is metabolic, an appetite that must be fed or the organism dies.
What endures beneath the reinventions is the voice of Elli Stassinopoulos: the mother who turned locked doors into adventures, bad grades into bouquets, and a photograph in a magazine into a life. The woman who taught her daughters that angels fly because they take themselves lightly. The woman who, when the postman came to deliver a package, invited him in and offered him something to eat.
On Arianna Huffington's nightstand, there are no devices. There is a pen with a light on the front of it, for writing down dreams in the dark. And there are books — physical books, poetry and fiction and history, nothing about media or healthcare or geopolitical issues. She reads them in bed, in pink pajamas, and when her eyes grow heavy, she puts them down and surrenders. Sleep, she has learned, is about surrender. Trying to surrender is really hard.
