Instead, I flew back to Oregon,  可现实是，我飞回了俄勒冈，

and as I watched the evergreens and rain come back into view, 看着窗外的雨拍打着常青树

I just drank many tiny bottles of airplane "feel sorry for yourself." 我不禁借酒浇愁。 

I thought about how, if I was a writer, I was some kind of misfit writer. 我想就算我是一个作家，我也只是一个格格不入的作家。

What I'm saying is, I flew back to Oregon without a book deal, without an agent, 我想说，我回到俄勒冈，没有签下一个书约，没有经纪人同行，

and with only a headful and heart-ful of memories of having sat so near the beautiful writers. 有的只是满满的回忆。我曾经和那些美丽的作家离得那么近。

Memory was the only prize I allowed myself. 回忆是我给自己的奖励。

And yet, at home in the dark, back in my underwear, 然后当我回到家的黑暗中，穿回我的内衣，

I could still hear their voices.  我还能够听见她们的声音。

They said, "Don't listen to anyone who tries to get you to shut up or change your story." 她们说：“不要让任何试图让你闭嘴的人改变你的故事。”

They said, "Give voice to the story only you know how to tell." 她们说：“表达只有你才知道的感受。”

They said, "Sometimes telling the story is the thing that saves your life." 她们说：“有时候写书可以改变你的一生。”

Now I am, as you can see, the woman over 50. 现在，我也50多岁了。 

And I'm a writer. And I'm a mother. And I became a teacher. 我是一个作家。我是一位母亲。我也成为了一名老师。

Guess who my favorite students are.  猜猜我最喜欢的学生是谁。

Although it didn't happen the day that dream letter came through my mailbox, 我写了一篇回忆录，尽管不是从邮筒拿出信的那一天写的，

I did write a memoir, called "The Chronology of Water." 叫做“似水年华”。