Life is getting back to normal after my landmark 75th-anniversary birth celebration. I loved every minute of it. Today, life returns to reality. I have a morning dentist appointment and a Mansion Meditation Class at 11.

I returned to my quiet hour in the afternoon; I thought about what I often think about. What kind of man do I want to be? I was in a melancholy mood today, perhaps an inevitable crash from the lovely weekend in Williamstown.

The humidity is beginning to recede, and it didn’t hit 100 degrees today, something to be thankful for.

I got out to take some neat photos in the morning; my flowers never fail me.

 

 

I never used to think much about the man I wanted to be; I mostly tried to survive the man I was.

I don’t expect to change much. I am just getting comfortable with myself, and I notice that the legions of people lined up to tell me who to be, what to write, and what to say are melting away. I know that means I am changing, not them. Anger draws anger; hate draws hate. A mark of progress for me is just how much hate I pull in, and give back.

One woman wrote to say I was one of those clueless men of white privilege as if it was some evil I chose to embrace, as if one can choose to be something like that or not to be.

Like everyone else, I am who I am, for better or worse, and no child of privilege I know of can or will choose to suffer. I won’t apologize for my life.

I had no say over what child I became or even what person. I did my fair share of suffering, as everyone has, even white men of privilege.

. I have more over who I am not and how I can be better.

I think there is such a thing as white privilege, and I  experience it and benefit from it every day.

But there is no switch to flick to change who we are and what we have been. All I can do is look ahead rather than dwell on the man I was or am. I choose instead to think about the man I wish to be – wiser, more patient, more accepting, more open, more empathetic, more compassionate.

I also have this growing feeling that we have become a nation of victims, full of grievance and resentment, looking over their shoulders to spot who they need to resent and judge – who is insulting them now and who is giving offense.

That is not the person I want to be. I am not responsible for who I was raised to be or what benefits I was given – not too many, as it turned out – but I am fully responsible for who I am now. I do the best I can for as long as I can.

 

 

I have worked hard to face myself and understand the truth about me and face it. I also have somewhat selfishly learned the importance of doing good; this has made me feel so much better about who I am. It is the best medicine and most efficient therapy I have experienced. I have internalized this; it is a part of me now, a part of my identity. I don’t need to be a saint to do good.

 

It is time to start preparing for winter, even though it has never been warmer. Today, we started our generator and let it run for half an hour. It made some noise but sounded clean and robust. We found a mouse nest on the top of the generator under the tarp. We have yet to use it, but we must remember to start it up occasionally.

We have all the wood we need, and I signed a heating oil contract.   We pay so much a month – a small amount – to keep the price of heating oil at the same rate all winter. Our wood stoves have saved us a lot of money.  Our first cut hay is coming shortly, on two loads of 30 bales each. Maris is stacking the last two chords of wood in the woodshed.

 

I get up early to go to the dentist tomorrow to have a tooth molded into my lower teeth, the new tooth will be bonded between two existing teeth,  which was taken out a year or so ago, and I’ll have a complete set again. That will feel good. I’ve shaken up my raised garden and brought in beautiful annual flowers that will take me to the first frost.

I feel like I’m always getting ready, and that makes it difficult at times to be peaceful.