I've been thinking about something I wrote a few days ago, and watching my son go through physical therapy, and there's a parallel here that gives me some comfort:
It's a marathon. Don't let anyone tell you differently.
There's no quick fix, there's no easy win. There's just work. Lots of it.
I should know. I've been slogging at this for years. Some of you know my name, most of you don't. That's OK.
I don't need everyone to know my name anymore. Lord knows I used to bleed for that.
Now I bleed for other things. I'm happier leaving people better than how I found them, and no one ever has to tell another person, "That was Roley."
That person knows, and I know. That's all I really need.
If that person mentions it, and something happens as a result, that's just gravy. Sauce for the goose.
I have my wife, I have my kids, I have a small number of friends that know the real me and don't run screaming from the room. I'm good with all of that.
Sure, it would be nice to have the house on the beach and the nice car. But, do I need it?
Not really. I have what I need.
I have the contents of my brain, and a good heart, and a clear conscience.
I have a skin I'm used to, and no desire to prove anything to anyone anymore.
I'm finally at peace with myself.
It took this long, and yet at this point I'm grateful for how much time I have left to just be me.