Even more than four decades later and numerous “woe is me” blog posts, I’m slowly mastering the obvious.

I don’t give myself enough credit.

I think too much about why I’m not doing enough at home, beat myself up for not living up to my expectations as a husband or a father. I grimace when I realize how much time I spend in idle pursuits or not focusing on important spiritual matters.

Now I’m on the verge of becoming Eeyore, moaning about the intricacies of a wonderful life with enough money, a happy family and all the stuff I need.

But it’s never good enough. I’m not helping enough people, not losing enough weight or solving the mortgage crisis.

But I’ve learned something. Every time I make a decision about my time, I think differently now.

I think about how I could make life easier for my wife. A hectic time at work won’t stop me from calling home to ask my kids about school.

Now when I leave the bathroom after a shower, I don’t leave my clothes in a heap. Because that would require more work for my wife. When I go to bed late at night, I see clothes that I could fold or dishes that I could do.

I think about the note that I could leave on my kids’ doors or the letter I could write my wife. Even if I act on that thought half the time, it’s still better than before. And I’m not thinking about myself.

The other morning my wife walked into the kitchen, took out the cereal and milk and sat down at the table. I got up from the computer and sat down next to her. I didn’t have any papers with me and my phone was in the other room.

Just her and I. Nothing to distract us.

She continued to eat while I listened. I wanted her to know she was important, that she mattered to me.

When I look back on it, I realize I’m not that perfect husband. Far from it, in fact.

But I’m getting there, even if it takes me longer than others.

At least I’m moving forward.