Good morning.

This will serve as a response to your thoughtful theory about parts of the family, you and I included, suffering from a malady you call low self-esteem.

I speak only for myself, about the points you raise.

***

For myself, I think you’re partly right.

I walk through the world, Esteeming my Self highly, less than I ever have before.

I rarely look in the mirror and see someone Esteemed looking back at me.

Sometimes I don’t even see much of a Self.

Personally, I would call that progress, on both counts, in a sort of buddhistic sense.

***

Another proverb from the insufferable quasi-ancestral mythos.

“You don’t dress for the job you have; you dress for the job you want.”

But how should I dress if I don’t want a damned job?

The answer is: however I please.

I shall grow old. I shall wear too much black, or purple, even in my hair maybe.

I shall wear nothing or next to it, as much as possible with regard to the delicate tastes of local law enforcement.

I might finally get a tat, regardless of what that might say about my abundance or complete lack of self-esteem.

I might re-pierce my overgrown ear, or even both of them.

But I won’t ever base my estimate of the worthiness of my self on those things.

I won’t measure it by how much I spend at the spa, or at Kohl’s.

***

Which motel I stay at isn’t a factor either, except that I know that I esteem my self best when I can find myself never staying at one ever again.

Slouching towards a purer Nomadics. That’s something worth working toward.

Being a more honest writer.

Becoming a more consistent walker, home-cooker, and cinematographer. A better lover.

Living in kindness to those less fortunate, even if they’re not fluffy adorable felines.

If I can raise the bar in these kinds of ways …

I can be very content to let any theoretical esteem issues take care of themselves.

One less damn thing to worry about, y’know?