Nothing To Prove
On a birthday with a zero in its number, in an unexpected flash of clarity, I understood that I have nothing to prove to anyone. The catalog of things I had tried to prove before that moment is long: that I am smart, clever and creative, that I am competent and capable, that I am successful, sexy, and insightful, that I am one of the guys during happy hour, that I belong almost anywhere I go, that I understand both the outer and inner game of baseball, that I see what is wrong with the world and what is needed, that I see what is wrong with an organization and what is needed, that I see what is wrong with you and what is needed, that I am quick-witted and funny, that I have taste and style, that I can write, and probably lots of other things that I can’t recall at the moment.
