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.

Freedom matters more than safety, even if you can’t see that
Taxing ‘the rich’ more not only wouldn’t work, but it’s not fair
Night of panic and little sleep shows chaos of finding my way
Was I ‘fat’? ‘Lazy’? My father’s ugly words made me feel shame
Nothing new here: Russell Brand pushing same old socialist idiocy
Home is just a dream that some among us are still searching for
Gloria Allred wants free speech for her, but not for Rush Limbaugh
Political action may seize power, but only ideas bring real change
With millions jobless, U.S. companies struggle to find skilled workers