I’ve always thought I had plenty of time.
No matter what happened to me, I had plenty of time to change things. I had plenty of time to try again. Plenty of time to fix my mistakes.
When I became managing editor of a small daily newspaper while I was still just 21 years old, I thought I was way ahead of schedule. I had plenty of time and I was going to live up to my potential. I was going to do great things.
When I started my own newspaper company in my late 20s, I was pleased with myself. But then my company failed by the time I was 30. But I still had plenty of time.
When I became a political consultant a few years later, I thought I was finally on track. Surely this was where I would make my mark. I was going to be someone important.
Politics led to a high income, but nothing of importance. I wasted 20 years. I ended up divorced. I had nothing to show for my life yet. But I still had plenty of time.

Fixing what’s broken inside often makes things worse until rebirth
Desperate need to be special drives me to try to matter to those I love
We all love stories, but principles should trump anecdotes in debate
I kinda like Rand Paul, but I don’t support anybody as ruler-in-chief
I’m still hungry for healthy love that my 5-year-old self craved
How do we intuitively see truth through the fog of perception?
Banning folks from social media’s a bad idea, even when it’s Alex Jones
When we’re scared of real love, we can panic if someone loves us
If you’re not feeling overwhelmed, you might not be paying attention