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’d love to move to the Caribbean, so what’s been keeping me here?
We often act like madmen who’re eagerly bent on self-destruction
Making good art is really hard; getting paid for it is even harder
Giving up politics left me flat broke; it’s time to earn some money again
Few people want to admit it, but our society rewards conformity
Whatever you’re doing for Fourth, have a safe and happy holiday
Ocasio-Cortez and Trump just like characters in ’75 satire ‘Network’
I’m trying to silence inner critic who says I ought to be perfect