Other people are my reasons for being a better person, a better man AKA a more ME version of me, a truer version of ME, the ME I/we want to be.
This is not a bad thing. I am sure of this.
My Mom being my reason for eating dinner and “dessert” as opposed to one big meal at the end of the day, this is not a bad thing.
My wife being my reason for doing the same, for making sex dates, for seeking help and pushing our limits with blacklists, these are not bad things.
They help us grow.
They help us be more US versions of US.
They make us happy.
So fuck the idea of “doing this for me.” That may work for some and it may work for me some of the time. But for the most part, I do it because I love people. I am happy because the best way to cheer myself up is to try to cheer someone else up, whether by taking their on-call, bringing them coffee, cleaning the sinks, sending them flowers, cooking cookies that a bitch-ass grandmother won’t let them eat or asking about their family.
I am not an island; I may be apart, but my happiness has stemmed and will always stemmed from others. These people, those that I love, those that I could love and even those that I don’t love, but who deserve love, these are the people that are my reasons. These are my reasons for wanting to be me. These are my reasons for wanting to BE.