I don’t mind being second.
In fact, I embrace it.
It’s not just that in my opinion it makes me more real.
It’s not just that to be first in anything takes more work.
It’s not just that I’m too lazy to be better.
It’s not just that I would have to face the possibility that I’m just not good enough.
It’s all of the above and more.
It’s the comfort of being comfortable.
It’s also that I mistrust the result when you have enough money to become elite.
I tend to think that the advantages of money do not outweigh the advantages of my ordinary life.
I freely acknowledge the pleasure of pleasure, and the pleasure of, for example, taking one sip of wine and knowing, the pleasure of food when you can compare with examples from a traveled world, the pleasure of not having to open the door for yourself, or avoiding the stress of finding parking because you’re not driving, the pleasure of watching someone listen to you when you have nothing to say, the pleasure of taking pages to describe the proper way to raise your finger.

I take pleasure in ordinary things, food that is immediately delicious and not over-refined, sunlight that is warm enough, people who like me as much as I like them.

I know that I could be above myself if I wanted to be, but, having been, I’m glad I’m not. I like to keep it simple. I eschew obfuscation.