I am

I am becoming. Period. Evolving and choosing and engaging and expressing.

I am recognized. By my peers, by my community, by my employer.

I am drawing lines in the sand, and it’s not a windy day.

I am not an asshole.

I am starting to trust myself, my decisions, and my gut.

I am a good writer and starting to believe the people who tell me that.

I am a song with words, and a bridge, and a verse, and a chorus, and a coda.

I am no longer interested in giving up on myself.

I am an emotional caretaker.

I am an animal lover, and a petting zoo participant, and a puppy breath lover, and a cat purring on my lap lover.

I am generally genuine, and kind, and interested, and curious, and open, and progressive.

I am gifted, and most of the time unaware of the time, and on a beautiful broad spectrum of neurodivergence that can no longer be denied or masked.

I am a completely accidental career public servant.

I am an anti-theist who still believes in angels, because Dolly Parton walks among us.

I am a son, and a husband, and a brother, and a nephew, and an uncle, and a cousin, and a grandson, and a neighbor, and a colleague.

I am grateful. For you. I tell my husband every week after I meet with you about the wisdom that exists in this group, the shared wisdom, the individual wisdom, the sheer intelligence and demonstrated integrity and humility and everything you are.

I am practicing sobriety.

I am ready for recovery.¹