Whether you have been or will be lucky or unlucky, I do not know; but now of all times I wish I were with you, taking pleasure in no longer being alone and, if you are in need of encouragement, telling you about my long years of honourable but painful solitude, which began after I cast my first glance into the new world, about the indifference and incomprehension of my closest friends, about the terrifying moments when I myself thought I had gone astray and was wondering how I might still make my misled life useful to my family, about my slowly growing conviction, which fastened itself to the interpretation of dreams as to a rock of stormy sea, and about the serene certainty which finally took possession of me and bade me wait until a voice from the unknown multitude should answer mine. That voice was yours, for I know now that Bleuler also came to me through you. Thank you for that, and don't let anything shake your confidence, you will witness our triumph and share in it.
I am glad to say that I can no longer claim too much of your sympathy for my ailing state. I made my entry into the climacteric years with a rather stubborn case of dyspepsia (after influenza), but in these wonderful weeks of rest it has reduced itself to an occasional gentle reminder.
I made up my mind long ago to visit you in Zürich. But I see it as a Christmas or Easter excursion. Then I shall come straight from my work, stimulated and teeming with problems, not in my present almost somnolent state, with all my cathexes discharged. I too feel the need of chatting with you for a few hours.
With kind regards (and wishes!),
Yours, DR FREUD
From The Freud/Jung Letters: The Correspondence between Sigmund Freud and C. G. Jung. Ed. William McGuire. Trans. Ralph Manheim and R.E.C. Hull. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1988. ©1974 Princeton University Press. Courtesy of Sigmund Freud Copyrights, by arrangement with Paterson Marsh Ltd.