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The box of detergent weighed as much as I did. Maybe more. But I wanted to help bring the groceries from the car, so I picked the biggest box.

I wanted to help. I wanted for my parents to praise me. I wanted to be special.

The memory is hazy. I had never helped bring groceries in — I was maybe 2 or 3 — but I decided I was ready. I don’t think I even told either of my parents. I just started trying to drag that big box toward the house.

After I dragged it a little way — and realized it was too heavy — I went to get my wagon. I was struggling to get it into the wagon when my parents found me (and Mother made this picture).

I didn’t understand my motivations at that age. I was acting purely on instinct. But as I look at my life — my patterns of the past and my inner desires today — I’m faced with the inescapable conclusion that I’ve always been desperate to be special to someone.

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I quit one of my jobs today.

It’s really more accurate to say that I made official what I had already planned to do. I let people in my department know that I’ll be gone at the end of June. I introduced them to the guy I’m recommending to take my place. So now it’s official. I’ll be gone from here in a month.

When a long-time friend — who was the chair of the computer science department — called to offer me this job almost five years ago, I first turned it down. I’m ashamed to say that it felt beneath me to work part-time for a college overseeing computer labs and helping students with their problems.

But I was broke and desperate. I hadn’t figured out how to transition from my previous days as a political consultant. I was looking for a big opportunity, but none had come my way.

I’m grateful now for a small opportunity that offered me a lifeline while I needed it.

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I read this week that close to half of American households would be unprepared for an emergency that cost them $400. I had a mixed reaction to this news.

I felt thankful that I’m not among them, but I felt a shiver of empathy for them — because I was one of them not very long ago.

Back when I was working in politics full time, I made a nice living. After I became experienced and well-known in my political circles, I didn’t make less than six figures in a year, sometimes substantially more than that. I was comfortable and I bought what I wanted. I had plenty of money.

About 10 or 12 years ago, I started getting out of politics. I’ve talked about this before. I lost respect for what I was doing. I came to believe it was wrong, both pragmatically and philosophically. But it was hard to turn the money down. Slowly, though, I “sabotaged” my way out of politics.

That’s when things turned ugly.

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