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.

Nine years ago, he asked her, ‘Will you take a chance on me?’
The ‘man in the mirror’ always turns out to be our worst enemy
Best years of our lives? For me, teen years were start of feeling like alien
HUMOR: The senator chooses whether to live in heaven or hell
Advice to fast food restaurant execs: stop ‘innovating,’ do the basics right
A tax on folks who can’t do math? Winning may be worst possibility
When I’ve done something great, nothing seems impossible to me