I am productive. Not always efficient, not always producing the things perhaps I should, but I am always busy.
I am resilient. Shit happens, I survive. But it leaves marks and now I am finally focusing on the repercussions and how to heal, rather than just carry on.
I work to get better. I spend a lot of energy on self-analysis and on seeking ways to improve myself. I worry that’s because I think deep down I am very flawed rather than because there is some idealized version of me I’d like to get to be.
I am a good mate. I grew up in a home repeatedly divided by divorce, but I take my marriage vows seriously and literally, having, holding, through good times and bad, till death us did part. My wives have both been my best friends. I am lucky to have married amazing and beautiful women.
I am a decent dad. My son is a good person with drive, a desire to create, better ethics than mine, and he has weathered the worst thing that can happen to a kid, losing his mother. Still, I have yet to figure out how to help him without prescribing and meddling, and how to let him succeed at being himself, rather than a version of me.
I have changed my life. I have stepped off the train I was on for thirty years and found a new love, a new career, and many new attitudes. I am getting older, but more flexible. And happier.
I am creative. I make something or other every day. But I would like to push myself further, to make some things that are real departures, to take more risks than I have.
I am curious. Insatiably so. I read in many directions, I inquire, I dabble. One day I study screen printing, then I learn to code CSS, then I study Cro Magnons, then I interview a musician, then I contemplate moving to Greece. I don’t know where all this intellectual dilettantism gets me, but it’s my nature. Does it make me broad but shallow?
I am healthy. I have not had any major problems, besides the ongoing scourge of shingles. Increasingly, I see from those around me, how neglected health can destroy one’s plans. I try to eat well, to sleep enough, to exercise regularly. I am not fiendish about it, but I try. Fortunately, I am blessed with pretty good genes.
I am an author. It’s a dream I’ve had since childhood, to have a shelf of books with my name on their spines. But I still wonder if I have written anything important enough. Yet.