A restless vitality wells up as we approach 30.

As we reach midlife in the middle thirties or early forties, we are not prepared for the idea that time can run out on us, or for the startling truth that if we don't hurry to pursue our own definition of a meaningful existence, life can become a repetition of trivial maintenance duties.

The work of adult life is not easy. As in childhood, each step presents not only new tasks of development but requires a letting go of the techniques that worked before. With each passage some magic must be given up, some cherished illusion of safety and comfortably familiar sense of self must be cast off, to allow for the greater expansion of our distinctiveness.

The fundamental steps of expansion that will open a person, over time, to the full flowering of his or her individuality are the same for both genders. But men and women are rarely in the same place struggling with the same questions at the same age.

No sooner do we think we have assembled a comfortable life than we find a piece of ourselves that has no place to fit in.

There is no more defiant denial of one man's ability to possess one woman exclusively than the prostitute who refuses to redeemed.

Husbands come and go; children come and eventually they go. Friends grow up and move away. But the one thing that's never lost is your sister.