‘Isn’t it a bit late for this?’

‘What? Late in the day?’

‘No, I mean, late in your life.’

‘You think it is too late for me to publish a novel? But why?’

‘Well, publishers want to be able to invest in an author. If you are too old, they are not interested in you.’

Totally depressed after this conversation, I went to see a therapist whose card had been in my bag for a while. Door open – nobody in the room. Well, not quite. A big ginger cat sat on the desk, looking at me with a benevolent air. It let me stroke its fur and started purring. I sat down in the armchair that seemed to be designed for this very purpose and the cat leapt on my lap. The sound of the door opening behind me made me jump.

‘I see you have met my assistant’.

‘?’

‘Excellent to help clients relax.’ Turning to the cat:

‘It is time for your break.’

The cat instantly disappeared. And, ignoring my gaping mouth:

‘So. What is your dream?’

I thought this was a bit blunt but answered anyway:

‘I want to publish my novel. I’ve been working on it for three years now and it is almost finished.’

‘Right. So what is the problem?’

‘I’m not sure. I’m just terrified. I’ve just had a very depressing discussion with my mother who says that I’m too old to publish now.’

‘I see. Too late now, and previously, it was too early.’

I stammer:

‘Yes, but, yes, but, how do do you…’

She waves this away.

‘Never mind…’

I think I can hear her mutter something about it being obvious, because it is the same for everybody, which I resent because one of my deep convictions is that I am different, certainly not like everybody…

‘I thought I was unique’, I say, hoping against all odds that she won’t catch the bitterness in my voice.

‘Well, that’s the point. I’m a unicologist.’

‘A which?’

‘A unicologist. I help people realize their unicity. 7 billion people, each one of them unique, and most of them having trouble with it – amazing, really.’

My mind is reeling:

‘So I am different, meaning I’m like everybody?’

She nods.

‘Tell me about your dream as a child. Be specific. Divinity is in details, as you know.

(Do I?)

When I left, the garden was caught in a storm of cherry blossoms, wind-blown flowers all over the lawn. And… peacefully grazing at the back, with flakes of white petals on snow white fur, I’m pretty sure there was a unicorn…