The one and only.

I have to adjust. To the world that I find myself in. That’s what I’ve been trying to do. All my life. Adjust. Adjust. Adjust. I have no other choice. Other than to kill myself. To opt out of the world. And I don’t want to do that. Therefore, I adjust. Like it or not. So far. I’ve been able to pretend, at the very least. That I’m in love with life. By writing about it. By making declarations. That things ain’t so bad. For me. If not for the world around me. Oh, sure, I’d like to change the world. But I acknowledge. That I can’t do that. I can only change my approach. To happiness. Turns out. That’s all I want out of life. Happiness. As long as I can remain reasonably happy. That’s sufficient. I wish for other people to be happy, too. But that’s mostly beyond my control. I can make some of my friends and intimates happy. By my actions. But sometimes, I make them more distraught than happy. I look at the situation philosophically. I can do only so much. For others. That shouldn’t stifle me or send me into the doldrums.  Instead. I should be happy and vibrant. Just being Jim Broede. The one and only. --Jim Broede