Once, a lifetime ago, when I was only twenty-eight, a rather gifted poet friend of mind, upon reading the first person narrative of my journal, suggested that I try writing in third person. I gave it a try and in so doing turned my rather self-absorbed navel-gazing journal writing into fiction. Some day, some year, I may do it again. I may write fiction or at least a highly fictionalized version of my life. Who knows?
Like how I envision myself some day an orator, I see before me possibilities. Possibilities in the not too distant future. I have certain gifts — such as public speaking (preaching, actually), writing, and perhaps once again helping and healing others as a psychotherapist — that I must cultivate and at some future date use. In the meantime, I wait patiently, carefully taking life as it comes, one step at a time, one day at a time. For now, I still very much need my time and energy devoted to caring for myself, my son, and my husband. Everything else can wait.