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.

It often takes approach of death to wake us from a dead-end life
Friend’s happy family and career remind me how good life can be
Lennon had ‘wrong ambitions,’ but became cultural icon anyway
My mother was more impressive than my father led me to believe
Hypocritical Republicans wimp out on free market when politics calls
I can’t help wanting to replay life with emotionally healthy parents
What does a man confess about himself when he wants a ‘slut’?
Gloria Allred wants free speech for her, but not for Rush Limbaugh