Narrow canyon shaft between rugged rock walls with bright sky visible overhead

I have spent a lifetime trying to corral young artists and budding writers through process of creating something from nothing and my most important lesson has always been that perfection is a myth, and that seeking it, is a complete waste of spirit. This is not to say we should avoid striving for excellence, as excellence is different than perfection. Excellence is the best you can do with the tools you’ve been given, while perfection is nothing more than the unattainable folly of the delusional and compulsive.

Two lifeguards sit on a wooden lifeguard tower by the ocean, with red rescue tubes hanging from the railing.

Unlike social conservatives, I do not expect everyone to manage their affairs according to my little peccadillos, but once you start infringing on my pursuit of happiness, that’s a different business altogether. Most of my annoyances are purely personal and do not affect the happiness of others. You may wander the boardwalks, dine on lobster rolls, and make a nuisance of yourself in general, as long as you leave me out of it, and that is mostly the way it is. People are free to pursue endless nonsense and I am free to abstain.

Close-up black-and-white portrait of a man with a beard, looking at the camera, focusing on his eyes and forehead.

I know the right path. The good path. I know it both intellectually, emotionally, and even historically, but still, I refuse to take it. It’s the path that leads to sanity and happiness. It’s right there and I decline, knowing I’m choosing a more difficult one, from which I will surely emerge bruised, battered, and torn. I know this from personal experience, and yet still, I persist. I make the poor choice.

Portrait of a man in a cap and glasses making an OK sign with his right hand.

Ed Dobbs always looked to me like he’d just thought of something darkly funny and was trying to decide whether or not you were worthy enough to share it with. More often than not, he kept it to himself, which is presumably the same reason I didn’t know Eddie was sick until I got a text from him last night. Only it wasn’t him after all, it was his wife, Fran. Eddie, it turned out, had already left the building.