Life is good.

No matter how much I complain, it’s just plain good.

I’ve got a beautiful, funny, intelligent wife who I adore.

I’ve got a job with a company that takes care of it’s employees financially.

I’m driving a brand new car.

I’ve got the ability to continue to improve my life.

And most of all, I feel like I really starting to develop that conscious contact with my higher power.

On April 18, 2004, I was lying in the ICU of a hospital in Illinois, hoping, wishing, praying that the antifreeze that I had drunk a few hours previous would do what I wanted it to do: kill me.

It didn’t.

I shouldn’t be here.

And now I have the unique opportunity to let people know that, yes, it can get better.

Maybe not perfect… whatever the hell “perfect” is.

But better.

Infinitely better.

And all I’ve really done is surrender, suit up, show up, and play the game to the best of my ability each day.

Some days I just surrendered, suited up, and showed up.

Some days I just suited up and showed up.

Some days I just suited up.

Some days I did none of the above.

But even on those days, I remembered what it was like when I stopped doing those things.

So I would surrender… again.

And, once again… I would be able to say to myself:

“What a good life…”

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