Today was one of those days, a day of self-reflection. I think it started with an email from one of my three brothers who emailed about my latest book. He said that he enjoyed one of the essays about our family heritage and that he hoped he has instilled upon his children and grandchildren the significance of family. He has over a dozen grandchildren. Tears came to my eyes. I miss my mother and father, my Aunt Ella, my kind grandmother, my many aunts and uncles and many of my cousins that have died. Somehow I felt excluded, different. I have always been a social isolate. I have few close friends. I find my comfort in nature, in writing, traveling solo and reading. I have traveled all over the world and have never found a place I preferred than my remote ranch, rough though it is. I am a writer, an author and live in a world of make believe. I have learned to tell the truth. I have found that the most unhappy times in my life have been those in which I attempted to conform and be like everyone else. It was a failure. Pleasing others never worked. In the process I lost myself. When I hit the wall, those rough times that I could not navigate, and turned it all to God, Jehovah, Buddha, Vishnu or to whomever you pray, he/she took care of me, the definition of faith. Today when my tears began to fall, I got in my pickup, drove down to the barn, baited the coon traps, repaired a surveillance camera on one of the deer feeders, weed eated down at the guest lodge and picked the tomatoes, green beans, peppers, and cucumbers, I knew that those who have passed were with me. I returned home and made hot sauce. Who am I? I think I know.