Pretty Good

Sometimes, I actually feel pretty good about myself. About where I am, now, almost nineteen months later. That we made it through that awful journey, somewhat reasonably intact. OK, not entirely intact, but reasonably. That I learned all about that nasty thing, and marshalled every weapon we could to fight it, as fruitless as it ultimately was. That we made it as good as we could for Lou, as bad as it was for us. Sometimes, I do feel pretty good about myself. That I finally did get out of bed months later, put one foot in front of the other, and went back into the world. That I found my way, with lots and lots of help, but found it nonetheless. That I've traveled, sent a second son off to college, got back to work. That I've learned to enjoy my own company, most of the time. That I can make it through that darn "core fusion" class where I am, without a doubt, at least 25 years older than most everybody else in there. It's not a bad thing to feel good about oneself. When you do, you tend to be happier, in general. You can be better, for others. It is still novel to me, this "feeling pretty good" thing. I still marvel at it, when I catch myself, every now and then saying "wow, I'm kind of doing ok". It can happen. It's pretty good to feel pretty good.