Hillary said it best: I found my voice. We all smiled at that. Isn't that a true, revealing statement, finding our voice, the sound we make when the pain in our soul finds its own sound and is allowed to be heard? When does that happen? Not often enough. We are busy protecting our public persona we have so carefully crafted during our lifetime, afraid that any alteration might upset somebody.
I spent the last few years trying to find my true voice, the one note that spoke like me, with the expressions and quirkiness that are my signature. I sound like my mother and my children, and sometimes like my husband. I sound with the history of my life, the winds and the rains that I have experienced. I sound my age. I sound sixtyfive. C'e ma vie! `E la mia vita!
And so, I say, this is sixtyfive. What now?