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.

Bachmann’s attack on Obama’s TelePrompTer was cynical hypocrisy
When governments keep secrets, you’re probably being lied to
Was I ‘fat’? ‘Lazy’? My father’s ugly words made me feel shame
If politics sends you into a rage, is it really a good use of your time?
Tough problem: What does a free society do about unfit parents?
Arrival of better financial days makes me value my painful past
Pursuing transcendent meaning is rebellion against modern culture
I fear nobody will come with me as I start down a difficult path
When did someone decide we have the legal right not to be offended?