Rediscovering oneself can be quite exhilarating and yet slightly depressing. My head is like an airport - busy trying to figure out who I want to be or mostly how I can do it. I know what I want, but I don't always admit it. What happened in my life is nothing to be shamed of. I've lived many lives and been to many places and yet I don't have it - I don't have my life. The life that I'm living is not mine. Today I am seven and a half months away from becoming a forty year old woman and where I am now has absolutely nothing to do with my original plan for myself. My plan was going to become an actress, a working actress. I was going to work with Woody Allen, Ingmar Berman (before he died) and Peter Brook and to be one of those actresses that choose their own work. The kind of an actress you'd say ''She has such an interesting career'', like Marisa Tomei or Juliette Binoche. I've been waiting for Woody to find me for over twenty years and I'm exhausted. I did become close once, so very close. I met him and everything - I had a plan, but it fell through. Today my professional title is “marketing coordinator” which feels and sounds more to me like “kind of a loser”. Interesting and chic 40-year-old women aren't coordinators - they are managers, directors, CEOs, editors or movie stars. Then there are those women that sacrificed it all and became martyrs, didn't have a drive or didn't go to college. Now if that was my case I'd be bitter and I would be jealous - towards every woman that had something I didn't. This is not my case.