A divorced father calls me and describes his life as erased. The house belongs to someone else now. The children live on a schedule a court wrote. The role he performed for fifteen years- provider, protector, fixer- has no remaining audience.
He expects sympathy. I give him something more useful.
The collapse just handed you the first honest look at yourself you have had in decades. Every role you lost was graded by someone else. What remains, once the grading stops, is the raw material of an...