on writing my own obituary, oops, autobiography

Damn. This is a hard one. But I told folks I wouldn't ask them to do anything I wouldn't do myself, so I guess I've got to write something. But it's going to be hard to write something that doesn't sound like a c.v. I guess that's the "objective" version of myself. How to get at something more subjective, that captures something truer about myself? And do I really want to share that with everyone? Hell, even with a lover, we only reveal facets of ourselves (if we're lucky), and that only gradually. So I guess I'll just give you some facets. You can fill in the rest as we go through the next four months.

I was born in Vernon, British Columbia, Canada.

I'm the last of eleven children.

I was raised Catholic, and meant (by my father, at least) to go into the priesthood.

My years in high school were without a doubt the most miserable of my life.

My mother was diagnosed with a brain tumor when I was sixteen, and died the summer I graduated from high school.

It is one of the greatest regrets in my life that I was not more present for her in the last months of her illness.

I left my home town as soon as I could, and go back as infrequently as I can.

I've attended six universities and gotten degrees from three.

I've travelled to forty-odd countries, lived in seven.

My dad died when I was thirty-three, and I'm deeply grateful that I could get to know him better in the last years of his life.

I've been married, and divorced.

No kids.

I've been living in Hanoi now for most of the last nine years.

I've tried to escape, but the place keeps drawing me back, and I'm okay with that now.

I miss my wife.

I love my job.

I smoke a few cigarettes a day, but know I shouldn't.

I'm Buddhist, whatever that means.

I'm human, and very much a work in progress.

And I'm okay with that now.