How did I ever get this far? I’m a loser. I’m clumsy and awkward. I seem completely incapable of getting anything right. I am the anti-Midas; everything I touch turns to shit. I suck at sports. I have no career opportunities. My life has been a string of continuous rejections. And yet, all of my needs have been provided for. I might be unemployed, but I’m not homeless. I struggle with mental illness, but I’m not addicted to drugs or alcohol. I’m lucky. I’m so stinking lucky that it’s not even fair. I didn’t earn it. I don’t deserve it. I’m not exceptionally talented or skilled at anything. And, in spite of my tendency to blow up my life with staggering frequency, I’m still here. I’m still struggling. I’m still gluing the shattered bits back together one teeny shred at a time. But I still believe that when my life is over, the sculpture that has been formed through my diligent persistence will be an artistic masterpiece beyond compare. I might not be good at anything I do, but I am magnificent at being who I am.