My Song

A bird does not sing because it has an answer... it sings because it has a song.

That's just the way he is, and that's all he is.

So, what am I? Even though I have an answer, no matter the question, can I shut up and sing instead? What is my song?

I am unrivalled in technical matters, but am lousy at and a co-dependent in romantic relationships, and am working on it. My goals are to accept the past and to avoid worry and regret for today.

My song is a litany of success in technical contributions and tutelage. I'm kind and helpful to others. I motivate, tutor, mentor, teach and otherwise educate others to stand on their own two feet, grow and contribute... whether at home, work, college, societies, church, gym, bike, trail, or store. I do sometimes have trouble recognizing that I can't teach a pig to sing, but it eventually dawns on me. I'm sold on doing acts of kindness because I have received them myself, but expect nothing in return other than my own enjoyment.

I like my song, and I'm a happy man. I have an awful lot to sing about: the great career with work I enjoy, living in a terrific part of the country that permits hiking and biking to the max, control over my life, and great friends and family.

[The reader (me!) should remember that I continue to sort out how I feel from different perspectives, and thus the apparent repetition. I'm going to get it right, yet. This is, after all, my therapy.]

- text © 2008 by Willy

P.S., "I gotta be me!" -Sammy Davis Jr.

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