There are many peaks in a woman's life. Many vantage viewing points where you may look forward or backwards for a period and see your life all at once- like one would view an insect squirming in one's palm. Between the peaks, one plods on, seeing less but paradoxically doing more by blind faith, doing more by default (even the act of doing nothing is doing something by strict definition).
The times of deep thought, of pure vision come few and far between or else stretch into a period of clarity. They just could be preceded by a complete failure of vision and may simply represent a compensatory state, or a harvest of lessons- lessons learnt in the depth of the heart's darkness.
There is a lot of room at the top, true- room for recrimination if you will; room for correction; room for despair; room for hope. The child of regret is a fool.
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