Question about an old future

How does someone with only two interests – psychotherapy and writing – get a “second (or third) wind” at age 68? I am so sensitive to the endorphins of creative feeling and thinking that even asking the question feels buoying for a short moment. Alas: My infrastructure is dysthymic and my bank is empty. Therefore, I will need more than a question.

I used to rest on my laurels, such as I interpreted them. There may, though, be another twenty years in the picture. There should only be future-looking now. Couldn’t it be supernatural?

I think the action question is: Can a person capitalize on the brighter molecules in his historical makeup and decommission or de-emphasize the negative ones? I’d say this is what alcohol and other drugs can do (and probably a lot better than psychiatric meds). I’m thinking in some actual way, though. Other people may have an easier time than I, they who believe in positive thinking or believe they have a default bond with other people. I am too insular for that: After being with a person or two for a little time, I turn around and return to my open-air prison cell.

(That may not be terribly uncommon.)

For now, with no answers materializing, I hope for hope. The therapy I practice says that we must sometimes become hopeless – give up all good feeling that a parent or family member may someday be there for us. But there’s a different kind of hope that we impaired ones should hold onto. It’s triggered by being alive in a universe of total mystery.