My father was a writer. He wrote all of his life, inflicting upon many of us his novels, plays, articles, essays, and self-help books. Some were marvelous; some merely well-intentioned. But of all the things he wrote, his journal is his legacy: by turns wise and bewildering, it neared 1,100 type-written pages when he died in 2010. Although perused many times, this is the first time it will be read - cover to cover, page after page.
Tuesday, January 28, 2014
The Therapist's Choice
It is probably time to get out of this business. It is becoming increasingly anxious and as some things go well others may be getting ready to go badly. It comes of dealing in the lives of other people and looking at their pain when there is no choice about how to deal with it. Whatever I may offer, there is no sense they can respond and have such intense suffering. So well hidden that naming it, much less dealing with it, is a difficult prospect.
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