Essays to Myself

Is my standard response to this question. The question itself is of supreme importance to those seeking the answer, and I use this Latin term, unusual as it may be, for those whose question appears to be honest and borne from a place of sincere intention.

I am grateful for the opportunity to simply live, and in that moment, I realize…I’m the asshole that’s just lucky to be here. I don’t need to be nor should I be celebrated.

Intellectual Schizophrenia – that’s how I’d describe my writing style. I tend to write through a random stream of consciousness – with phrases and ideas coming at me so fast it’s hard to keep up.

I’m an asshole. So are you. If you can’t come to grips with this reality about yourself, it’s best you take the wildly inaccurate, self-righteous stories you tell yourself about how you are certainly not an asshole and find another essay to read that might feed your ego.

People see my problem solving philosophy as one dimensional – a hammer treating every problem as if it were a nail. They suggest that I fail to distinguish the nuance in the variety of challenges and problems men face in modern living.