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At any age, there are quiet yearnings.
They got something to do with a search for what will give zest and meaning to one’s life.
It’s fun to be alive when you’re contributing something, however little.
“I’m useless!” one housewife put it when her husband failed to appreciate her and the work she does at home.
Windows of her past opened inside her mind.
She longed for a return to her old self when she was busy carving a career.
In my younger years, I got sidetracked by too many interests. Only later did I realize that I must have a focus.
In recent years, I’ve written books on mental health, psychology and spirituality.
I don’t see myself an amateur or professional writer. Nor a hobbyist or weekend author.
I’m a free bird!
I write simply because I love it so in order to live better. There’s nothing I’d rather be doing more.
I suppose that’s where my heart’s deepest yearnings can be located. Where I’m free to follow my moods.
At no other time of my life, now that I’m getting older, is there as potent a force operating toward greater self awareness as in my current senior age.
I call it “quiet yearnings,” which I’m now anxiously heeding to be put on a blank paper.