This story is about me. Only me. It’s about my ego and insecurities and fears and needs.
I typically write what I think might be useful for others to know and understand, but this is different. It’s more like a diary entry. A confessional. A cry of frustration.
It’s the sort of thing I would address to a wife or partner or trusted companion — if I had a woman in that role. It’s my half of a conversation which I would need to have with someone who loved me and believed in me and was permanently a part of my life.
So this probably isn’t for you.
I’m struggling right now. In many ways, things are the best in my life that they’ve been for at least 20 years. I have stability and purpose again. I know where I want to go. I’m more clear about my values and my priorities than I’ve ever been in my life.
But I’m struggling with the gap between how things ought to be and the reality I see in front of me. And that gap terrifies me — because nobody lives forever.

I can’t find the balance between expecting too much and too little
When strangers tell us things we want to hear, we want to believe
I used to ponder who I really am; today I just ask who I am for now
Everything sounded fair at the time, so why’d I end up paying for it all?
Want to feel happier, healthier? Try cutting back on your deceit
Good artists show us what we can’t yet see with our own eyes
‘Tolerant’ left seethes with hate if you don’t accept ‘gender theory’