On the other hand, intellectually at least I know my life really isn’t so bad. I have a stable, decent-paying–if not especially satisfying, creative or challenging–job; I own my own condo, which continues to appreciate in value almost obscenely; I can afford to travel, eat at nice restaurants, give to charitable causes and buy all the amenities I need and nearly all that I think I want, for myself and the people I love; I have a wonderful family and a fine pet; and I’m in an amazingly strong relationship–something I had come to believe wasn’t really going to be in the cards for me–with Jeff. I’m loved by my friends and family and, I think, generally respected and appreciated by my colleagues. I really should be grateful, content and secure.
But I’m a spoiled, middle-class, white American male. I guess I just want more, dammit.