Gary stares at me as the compliments flow around him. I know he wants more than anything for me to acknowledge what he just put into words—everyone else may have missed the point, but he knows I didn’t. He waits for me to throw him some kind of bone—a word of understanding, a promise of improvement, a sign of love. Immobilized by the public awkwardness of the situation, and truly impressed by his impromptu performance, I give him two thumbs-up and a big smile. “Great job!”

It’s not enough. My response is yet another disappointment. He turns away from me and, instead, turns back to his group. I get a funny feeling that we have crossed a line—as if something has shifted and he knows, finally, that who I once was is gone for good, that I’m never coming back.

After lunch, when we return to the afternoon session, I can only come up with a half-finished paragraph and a stick-figure sketch about the torture of writer’s block. When it’s my turn to share, I clear my throat, but nothing comes out.

“I can’t,” I say.

“Yes you can,” Sari says. “Just relax.”

I glance over at Gary for some encouragement, but he looks away, refusing to meet my eye. He’s done. I’m on my own. I stare at my pad again, but still nothing. “No. I really can’t.”

“Okay, Judy.” Sari turns to the woman next to me. “Go ahead, Ann, brave-warrior-soul.”

And just like that, I’m off the hook.

* * *

We’re back in our room, getting ready to go to the big group dinner to celebrate the completion of the first day of our Noble Journey. Gary’s pawing through his small overnight bag, trying to decide which sweater to change into, when I tell him that I think Sari’s methods are a crock. “When I said I couldn’t read my thing, she should have pushed me. Instead, she took the easy way out and just went on to the next person.”

He stares at me. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Actually, I’m not.”

“It’s not Sari’s job to push you, Judy. It’s your job to push yourself.”

“No, actually, I’m here because I paid her to push me. If I could push myself to write I’d have stayed home!” He shakes his head, which only makes me dig in more. “Look, just because you were the star of the day with your song doesn’t mean that her approach works across the board. Not everyone can just perform on cue.”

“Judy. I haven’t ‘performed on cue’ for almost ten years. You know what a big deal that was for me. You know how I battle in my head to get through every single day.”

“I do know,” I say quietly. “And I admire you for it.”

“I don’t want your admiration. I want something else.”

I sit down on the bed. I don’t know what that means and I’m really not ready to find out. The idea of leaving the room is suddenly more than I can handle and I tell Gary that I’m going to skip the dinner. “Just tell Sari that I don’t feel well. Which is actually the truth.”