I lie in bed and stretch from head to toe, focus on my breathing, and prepare to confront what I think I wanted when I was younger, when I was young. Let's say 18.

I remember, or think I remember, because the pain, some decades old and rather vague - like the outline of a bruise - is a little disorienting. Is it now or then, and where does it hurt?

Well, let's not be dramatic. I had a lot of pain then and not much now, none at all as I write.

I remember having no real interest in money, or career, or any aims at all beyond being left to myself and exploring that. I wanted a bohemian life, of a sort. A life of my own, with interests and books, a life abroad and with love, novelty, colors and peace.

I remember now, I think I remember. I wanted to be left alone and find some treasure that no one could touch, no one could steal.

And I found it.