I knew I had a problem the day I pulled up to the four-way stop sign on a street I had traveled hundreds of times, and forgot which way to go. As I searched for any recognizable landmark, darting my head this way and that, the cars piled up behind me, honking their horns angrily.
I surveyed this scene from someplace far off, as if I were in a fog. I looked at the panic-stricken woman with the tears coursing down her cheeks, her two children chattering happily in the backseat oblivious to what was going on. I thought how sorry I felt for her.
Then I realized that woman was me.