Meditation with David Lynch: When I Was Wrong and He Was Right
One sweltering summer afternoon in 2012, I sat pregnant in the back of a limo next to David Lynch as we cruised along Mulholland Drive. At 66, Lynch was at his sharpest: blazer, white shirt, a cigarette tucked into his pocket, and his perfectly swooped white hair. Outside the tinted windows, Los Angeles floated beneath the blue sky, while the faint…