World Enough for Me

Do we really invent ourselves? Can’t we just blame others? Or luck? Or fate? Does it really matter how we got here? Probably not. Nevertheless, the question intrigues. Others produce biographies of most famous people, often centuries after they have passed on. What a shame, for the subject misses the opportunity to examine the many “whys.” This personal assessment is the challenge I have accepted.
My passions were, if anything, too many. Creating a better existence for those that follow is an easily understood objective. Reducing the “majestic” to the reasonably attainable requires focus, or specialization should you prefer. This of course is the first and usually most frustrating task. You will or have struggled with it much as I did. My story describes a natural process that was long and did not reach its goal; a reconciliation process that is also natural, for life is not a zero sums game.
I was a product of a rebellious generation, one that did not accept the past as an imposed condition. This attitude took some time for me to recognize, but tolerance has always been accepted as a demand: that we conform. I could not. My battle with conformity would never end. Curiosity and the denial of that which lacked a rational base caused me to be a sought after mentor or perceived to be the devil, for it seemed that I always took a contrary position.
My standard for making a self-evaluation is internal, a yardstick I religiously use and endorse.