There's a country song with the catchy little phrase: "When was the last time you did something for the first time?" Those words have (annoyingly) stuck with me because, well, I haven't done very much at all for the first time in a long time. This is not good.

It’s been two months since my last communication and I feel compelled to catch up. A lot has happened, the first and most significant of which affected all of us here on the West Coast. No, I’m not talking about the demoralizing implosion of the San Francisco Giants and the subsequent, equally depressing success of the Dodgers

The good thing about getting sick of yourself, of hitting a wall, is that it prevents further movement in that dead-end direction. It stops you. It also hurts, just to make the point very plain.

It seems everyone I talk to is dealing with something serious and vexing. Maybe it's life at middle age. Maybe it's living in a toxic and stressful world. Maybe it's just the roll of the dice. I don’t know. But I do know that such levels of suffering provoke some serious contemplation.

Life is curly. It takes unexpected twists and turns. It just does. It always does. And the thing is, you don’t know when the turn is coming, or what the turn will bring, or when it’s going to turn back, or how long the turn will last, or anything.

In the early summer of last year, my world became very small and quiet. A combination of illness and clients completing their work with me en masse left me feeling adrift at sea.

I am in the midst of writing my second book, a guide to grief. To this point, I have been referencing my past experiences with grieving as I share thoughts on how to grieve and why it’s so vitally important. It’s been from the vantage point of “I’ve been there and now I can look back and give you the lay of the land” perspective.

I recently read a thought provoking essay about success. The writer — a psychologist, author, and well-known speaker — enumerated his personal definitions of success, a list that, remarkably, had absolutely nothing to do with work, status, or wealth.

In my late 40’s I had the notion that I had entered my mid-life crisis. I became aware of my aging, aware that my body was changing. But that was nothing. I see that now. That was just the intimations of mortality, not the real, full-blown, lost at sea, freak-out mid-life crisis. NOW I’m in my mid-life crisis, and I know this based upon the following…

The turn of the year prodded me into thinking about my self-improvement project for the year and, while the list is long, I narrowed it down to the thing that has been tailing me for years – many years as a matter of fact.

We’ve crossed the Winter Solstice. (The best day of winter, in my opinion. The light’s coming back. Gives one hope.) Christmas has come and gone and the ceaseless conveyor belt of time carries us on into a brave new year, a year that one can only pray will include an impeachment hearing.

It was gorgeous last weekend, the perfect opportunity to get the kids out of the house, enjoy some time together, and do a bit of Christmas reconnaissance shopping. We walked the half-mile to town in the crisp, cold December morning under a dazzling blue sky, birds flitting and deer grazing in the open field we passed.

A few words about Frank. Frank is a bunny — a metal bunny whose ears, bent slightly forward, create a coat hook. Frank recently made more than $23,000 on Kickstarter. Is it cute? Sort-of, if you have little kids. Useful? It depends.

f you are one of those lucky people who knew who you were and what you wanted to do from the time you were seven years old, this column is not for you. Furthermore, I don’t ever want to talk to you and please don’t write me.

The night sea passage can be the space between an ill self and a healthy self, a nest gone empty, retirement, the loss of a loved one, or a failed business venture. Whatever the particulars, one is left feeling as though everything has crumbled and vanished. The night sea passage is not a booze cruise, my friends

One of my favorite quotes, torn and taped to my desk, is this one, attributed to Joseph Campbell: “We must be willing to let go of the life we have planned so as to have the life that is waiting for us.”

I have a thinking problem. They say that admitting that you have a problem is half the battle, but I’m not so sure. I’m in pretty deep. I’m not talking about normal, what’s-for-dinner sort of thinking, although I have plenty of that.

I don’t know about you, but in my experience, “second best” was a phrase of defeat. “Come home with first or don’t come home,” my brother once quipped as I left for a debate tournament.

A few years ago I spent many weeks overtaken by pain, the result of a bike accident. The pain in my neck and shoulder was intense. I couldn’t find a peaceful placement of the head to relieve it. Sleep nearly disappeared.

There are a lot of ugly ducklings around, a lot of people who feel flawed and different and who long to fit in but just … don’t: People who prefer one-on-one conversations to large groups. People who like solitude.