I can only be the thing that I am. As I grow older, I become more generous. I become less impulsive, less easily agitated, but by no means less flawed. My greatest frustration is always with myself, and while I try to contain it, not let it spill itself onto the clothes and shoes of others, I don't always succeed. I can only appreciate my own intention, which is innocent, and try to live in a way that translates into self-respect. I can try to express, as often and as profusely as I can, gratitude for all the ways my life is blessed. And I can embrace my humanity, which has in it as many spidery veins and fleshy bits as it does muscle and bone.