I visit Planet Melancholia now and then.

Most of the time it’s just some vague variety of self-pity or regret trying to sidetrack me.

Maybe you know the drill. Comparing your life to the lives of others who seem to have done so much better than you at silly things like relationships, parenthood, career/material success, financial wisdom, body maintenance … on and on. Most of us fall into that trap periodically. Some more than others.

However.

Instead of listing here the ways I’ve failed at life (it’s not a short list), I will list the ways in which (as Joe Walsh might sing) “life’s been good to me so far.”

Here I go.

I had an outstanding mom and dad who were always there for me, whose love was never in doubt. I knew they were “on my side” regardless of my behavior. I always felt valued, safe. They invested their time, emotion, and treasure in all their sons, always encouraged us to pursue the things we loved. Encouraged us to grow our gifts. Praised us every chance they got. Always building up, never tearing down. Amazing and rare gifts—they both were.

I always felt my three older brothers cared about me and were watching out for me (even while they were teasing me or otherwise up to mischief). Grateful to still be close to my two living brothers and sister-in-law. Good stuff.

I had some great friendships in my youth. People I felt very close to, like they were brothers rather than just friends.

Sleepovers … staying up all night, wandering the neighborhood at all hours, talking about all we would one day do and be when we grew up. Talking about the joys and terrors of being a kid. Lawn chairs resting on the garage roof the next morning.

Playing “HORSE” on the basketball court. Or ping pong, or tennis. Playing silly board games—Monopoly, Stratego, Chess … I remember some marathon RISK tournaments. Comic books. Star Trek. Outdoor games of the imagination. We murdered each other many times in those long-ago days with plastic guns and other toy weaponry. Fortunately, resurrections were the norm back then. Bike rides through Lords Park Manor and Blackhawk Manor, Trout Park and Lords Park. All over the damn place. Up curbs, down hills, through lawns, even into those big concrete drainpipes, which became for us secret, forbidden hideaways.

All the albums, cassettes, and 8 tracks we bought, listened to, traded, shared. The endless music we carried around with our portable cassette players, cranking UFO and Rush and Skynyrd and Cheap Trick … on and on. Learning to play guitar. Hooking up with friends and forming bands. Jamming in basements. All that went with that. The rock and roll soundtrack of our teens and twenties. The dipshit things we got into. Laughing through good things and bad things.

I miss those guys a lot.

I know it has a lot to do with just being that age. But some of them I thought for sure I’d still be playing chess with as an old man, bullshitting with them about life, death, and meaning while drinking a cold beer. Some aren’t walking on the planet anymore. Others … well, we drifted apart, you know, as people do. Just how things go.

Still. Priceless memories.

Having kids gave me the opportunity to find out what it feels like to love another human being (two of them, if we’re counting) more than it seems possible even to bear—more than life itself, more than the whole world filled to bursting. Such gifts they are to me. Grandkids too! Wading the creek, building towers with colored blocks, making “tents” with blankets draped over chairs. May we always love each other perfectly imperfectly as long as our hearts beat.

I’ve known what it’s like to love a woman like crazy, with a breathless passion. To be irresistibly drawn to her as soon as she walks into a room. To think of her all the time. To very much want to please her and make her happy. She made me believe she felt the same about me. Who can say if she really did? But the feeling of believing it? Oh, man. That was something. A mad season of love and lusty bliss. It’s long over. But … I got to have it! Not everyone does. A transcendent and sweet gift, the musky perfume of it still lingers in my dreams.

There were other relationships with women. Not that many. Enough, though, for one life. Enough for me. Each mattered. I learned important things from each of them. I’m not discounting the possibility of another love before this show’s over. But it’s not something I feel I have to have to be happy or whole.

Having people applaud for a band I was playing out with was a fun experience. Granted, the crowd was usually made up mostly of our friends, but we did get compliments from strangers as well sometimes. Writing the music and words for original songs. Doing some recording. Getting appreciation from people at a poetry reading. Facing my fears of public performance. Getting published and paid. Getting to meet a few minor celebrities doing journalism. Having Johnny Winter’s manager introduce me to Johnny with, “This is the journalist who wrote all those nice things about you,” then getting the band to sign my article. These were all ego-boosting events, and who doesn’t like a little of that sometimes?

As for right now—this moment in my life?

I like my life. I enjoy my job. I like where I live—the state, city, and neighborhood. My time is my own—to pursue the things I’m drawn to. I love writing and reading. Listening to, playing, and writing music. I love hopping on my bicycle every chance I get. I look forward to goofing with the grandkids this summer. How I live is my choice. What I spend my paychecks on is up to me. I seek God in my own way. Apparently, I cherish personal freedom more than I may have realized. I also have learned I am a creature of the familiar. For me, there’s a kind of emotional safety in familiar places and patterns.

There are people I love. There are people I know love me.

I have a good life right now. Truly.

These are things I need to remind myself when I begin to drift toward Planet Melancholia, where some part of me wants to lament what I do not have instead of being filled with gratitude for what I do have, have had, and am yet to have.

Therein lies at least one of the keys to lasting contentment.

My mantra when I wake up every morning: “I get to be alive today.”

And that, my friends, is not just a lot. It’s everything.

Blessings.