I have this thing where I get older, but just never wiser.

It’s me. Hi. I’m the problem.

My room is a mess. Right now. So is my desk.

Not only do I not tidy up enough but I am the master creator of mess. Say I have breakfast. I take things out of the bridge and I don’t always put them back. So it all unravels, at the speed of light (the entropy?)

I’m always late filing my taxes.

My credit score sucks.

I’m too soft with my kids. Being a “good cop” doesn’t get their homework done; it doesn’t ensure they do their chores.

I procrastinate.

I’m forty-two but sometimes I feel like I’ve not matured and there is nothing romantic about not growing older. I just haven’t matured. It’s about time, isn’t it? Yeah, I have four kids but that’s no indication of my maturity.

On my zoom calls I look scruffy. I don’t always have time to shower before my calls. I try to comb my hair (with my hand) but I look like I’d just woken up. Because I’d just woken up.

I probably look scruffy in some of my meetings too. Blame California — it’s all too casual. But blame me too. I’m the problem.

When it comes to speaking in public, I’m a monster. I mean a really ugly monster.

I’m failing a lot of my relatives and friends who’ve supported me over the years.

I am losing count of professional gigs where I failed. Maybe my bosses were jerks, maybe I didn’t like what I was asked to do, or maybe I didn’t work hard enough because I wasn’t saving the world. And then I failed at various endeavors that I myself chose to pursue. It’s me. I’m the problem.

Oh, thank you Taylor for this awesome song. We self-doubt a lot, but we are great too.