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Time passes swiftly.
And I started late. A desert of time to heal from trauma.
The ending of a particular career. Entrance to a new calling.
The maturation of children. Widowhood. New beginnings.
I gained fresh channels that permit re-invention of my "real" self.
In recent years, I seem bursting with previously unknown capacities.
It took me 20 or more years to realize. That my prior years were not wasted or lost.
It's part of a grand plan to acquire special wisdom.
To spur to grow. To be of greater use for others.
I feel good about being me.
A personality in "late blooming." Somewhat arriving at fuller identity.
Nowadays, I'm a daily artist.
My art is psychotherapy.
I practice my art making sense of life experiences.
I write about it, driven to understand the human condition.
My art of psychotherapy is integrative.
The fusion of personal and professional dimensions affects me extraordinarily.
My values. My lifestyle. My emotional stability.
Thus this work is not merely a way to earn a living.
It has become the essence of my life.
There are very, very few careers with this fruit of permeability.
It's a best therapy ever. A best art. A best life.
Its most exciting facet?
A heady sense of contribution to humankind. To a purpose greater than my own.
Every life I meet brings a prospect of a bright, beautiful painting.
For revival. For redemption.
I do not do my art to get rich. I do it in order to live.
One life at a time. One masterpiece at a time.