For eleven years, back in my 20s and 30s, I saw this wonderful therapist named Laurel. She had short, white hair (my own hair was long back then), and was very warm and wise.

I loved this woman. She helped me move past the crushing grief that paralyzed me after an injury cut short my budding dance career. She helped buoy me up during the depressing years of my first marriage.

I remember thinking that she was like my village wise woman. A thousand years ago we might have had the same relationship, me tromping through the forest to seek her counsel instead of driving across town. I imagined me showing up at her hut to sit on the dirt floor and spill my sorrows and partake of her wisdom. Instead of tearing a check out of my checkbook, I’d offer up a chicken or a basket of berries. [Read more…]