The best revenge is living well. That's the conclusion I came to after growing up in a bad situation. Don't get me wrong, I remember feeling very sorry for myself about it as a kid. It felt like everywhere I went, there was a bully waiting to push me down, and so all of life began to feel that way. As I became an adult, I realized that my problems are mine alone, and I am the only one who can keep my past from affecting my future. I wanted to be happy and stand on my own feet and provide support to the people I cared about.

Here I am, half way done. If I'm lucky. I still try very hard to act on solutions instead of feeling sorry for myself. But there's a certain fear that is hard to ignore: I will have time reflect on my life while I am slowly dying. It feels like it's happening right now. All I wanted was a home and someone I cared about inside of it. I wanted a job and some stability. Somehow, I have looked in all the wrong places or done all the wrong things or maybe just got unlucky. I try to be patient and inviting and understanding and I feel walked over, used, and forgotten.

How is it that my father was buried with adulation while I keep having people cut me out of their life? This is my revenge? Living the punishment that he deserved?

So fine, I give up. Maybe I'm as awful as my father. Or maybe other people are selfish and takers. Maybe none of it means anything and I'm assigning too many narratives to a dull physics simulation. But if I give up on what I thought I wanted out of my life, does that really mean I have to give up on everything enjoyable? I still want to laugh and sing and drink. I want to raise hell and pull over for stranded cars. I want to waste years and let the days drag on. Do I really have to do it all alone?

This post sucks and is exactly everything about myself that I loathe. But I guess this is who I am today. So look at me and tell me: am I living well?