There is a story my family likes to tell about me, one of those oft-repeated threads of family lore shared with outsiders to illuminate some uniqueness of the subject. Or to make fun of them, forcing them to laugh at themselves. This story…or the story that had been shaped and created and then retold, like…

If I had to choose one thing about myself that needed improvement, there would be so many. If I picked the one, though, that intersected with the most parts of my life, that contributed most to my ongoing insecurities, that exacerbated my loneliness, that threatened my health and mental well-being, it would be my lack…