I had a strange therapy session last night.

I haven’t really been into therapy lately. For the last few weeks I’ve been bored. I’ve realized that I’ve been talking about the same things over and over — the lack of a boyfriend, career dissatisfaction. And the thing is, these issues are external, not internal. A boyfriend will happen when it happens, and I’m committed to my job for another year and a half (and anyway, the economy sucks right now). These things have not changed in at least a year. Meanwhile, I’m making efforts in other areas — I’m writing, I’m volunteering, I’m meeting new people. I’m doing what I need to do.

I’ve been in therapy on and off since I was 17. I don’t know what more there is to learn about myself.

So I basically spent 45 minutes last night talking about all of this with my therapist, and also about how annoyed I was at her for certain things.

It wasn’t until the final five minutes that I had a revelation. It was a revelation that made my eyes well up with fearful tears. And yet now it doesn’t seem like such a revelation, because I already knew it.

The revelation is this. Nobody is right. Not therapists, not doctors, not parents, not my friends, not me, not my boss, not the president, not the president’s opponents, not Gandhi. We’re all human beings. We’re all as clueless as the next person. We’re standing on sand. Humanity awoke to find itself in an environment of forests and lakes and deserts, and it took an eternity for us to realize that we were on a big ball revolving around a star in a vast darkness. And for all we know, that could be wrong, too.

There are no absolutes. There’s nobody judging me, and if there is, they have no more power than I do. I’m all alone. In being annoyed at my therapist for certain things, I’ve been imagining, without realizing it, that there’s some big Board of Therapists out there with gavels that’s going to reprimand her for starting sessions five minutes late and for not being absolutely perfect. But she’s alone, too. I’ve realized it’s my job to point out when she says something I disagree with, when I think she’s doing something wrong. Which I do, 70 percent of the time, but it’s not enough.

There are no certainties. My uncle’s funeral was six years ago yesterday. He died of cancer, leaving my 56-year-old aunt behind as a widow. I have no idea what’s going to happen to me. I have no idea if I’m right or wrong or whatever. There’s absolutely no way to know. How do I know the inches on this ruler are marked correctly? How do I know how long a second is? Does everyone see green the same way I do?

All I can do is listen to myself. Set my goals and try to achieve them. All I can do — in fact, what I must do — is take ownership of my life. The critics, those who would judge me, those who I trick myself into thinking will judge me, have no power over me. There’s nothing they can do.

I’m alone. It’s scary-powerful to be alone.

And the dumb thing is, at 7:15 last night it seemed like this big holy revelation, but 10 minutes later, walking up Sixth Avenue, I thought, Yeah? And? I already knew this. I know it, and yet I can’t seem to apply it. My instincts to listen to others, to let others judge me, to seek their approval, are so strong and embedded in me.

I’m just as clueless and clueful as I was last night.