When I Dream...

It’s four o’clock in the morning, the alarm clock wakes me up by playing “Redemption,” a song holding a special meaning in my life—and not simply because I wrote it. I climb from the bed, careful not to wake my beautiful wife, and dress for work. It may be Saturday, but I like to be present at the Center on the day someone graduates from the program and is born into the world a new person.

Today is Greg’s “birthday” as we call it. We have a surprise planned for him. He thinks he’s just going to leave the front gate behind and drive to his new apartment in his own recently purchased car. He has no clue that his parents will be waiting outside with little Benny, the eleven-month old son he has never laid eyes on. They haven’t told him that they won custody of the child after Benny’s mother was arrested for selling heroin out of her apartment a second time since having him. Once Greg is ready, custody of Benny will be transferred to him.

His is an amazing transformation, as are most who complete the program. Just after he turned sixteen, his parents brought him to me, hoping against hope that my program would help him, though nothing else had. He was out of control when he entered the program. He had a history of assaults and drug use for which the juvenile justice system had locked him up twice before. He’d been on probation since the age of twelve, and even though he spent a total of nine months in two different juvenile facilities, it didn’t deter him from doing as he pleased.

Though he is very intelligent, he simply quit going to school, preferring to sell drugs, party, and fight. His behavior was ripping his family apart with the constant fighting and irresponsibility, eventually escalating to abusing his siblings, and physical altercations with his parents. They feared for their lives near the end, so much so that they threw him out into the streets. Even though they took extreme measures to keep him out, such as changing the locks and installing an alarm system, it didn’t work. He would just kick the door in or break through a window.

Now he is a week into his first semester in college, pursuing a degree in electrical engineering. He works full time as an apprentice to an electrician. He has paid off all of his fines and restitutions. He even volunteers as a tutor to children diagnosed with severe learning disabilities.

Greg and others like him are the reason I have chosen this path in life. I was once a troubled teen with problems similar to his. Trouble at home, trouble with the law, and in school. There was no help for me; doctors failed, the juvenile system failed, loved ones failed. I fancied myself an outlaw and a rebel, thought I was a hard-ass, and had a misplaced pride in my criminality. I was too naive to even care about what I was doing to myself and my family. I landed in a real adult penitentiary for a decade and a half after being convicted of attempted murder.

Prison changed me; or rather prison helped me to see the error of my ways, and provided me with the time, resources, and opportunity to right those ways. Now, at the age of forty-five, I own a completely self-sufficient building renovation and maintenance company, and a real-estate firm. They have earned me enough money to be considered wealthy, and provided me with the means to do everything else I’ve ever wanted to do.

I have earned the right to sign my name beginning with “Dr.” after receiving a Ph.D. in psychology. I have founded the Centers for Troubled Teens: Behavior Modification Program--a program designed by myself to provide young adults and teens the opportunity and help that I never received before I ended up in prison or dead. I have also founded the Centers for Troubled Teens Emerald City Resource Assistance Program; a program developed to aid teens and young adults who are otherwise unable to find and stay on the right path, by providing guidance and assistance in obtaining and using resources such as education, career training, housing, child care, parenting, psychological support, legal aid, financial aid and management, and personal and family counseling.

In this way I can bring balance for the wrongs I have done.

Of all my achievements in life, none compare to the family I have built and my ability to provide for them. The angel whom I do not deserve as a wife, yet still has given me her heart and soul, the two beautiful little girls who have pushed all of the guilt, regret, ugliness, and pain from my heart, and filled it with pure joy and peace, have left me with a permanent smile affixed to a face once marred by a bitter scowl. My daughters’ love is the reason for which I live the life I now do.

On the way home from the Center, I think I’ll pick up the ponies I bought for them for Christmas. It’s still three months away, but I can’t hold out any longer. I keep daydreaming about the glowing, surprised smiles that make me putty in their hands. I want to see those smiles today. Besides, the fence around the field behind the house is finished and it’s a beautiful day for riding. I’ll get a dozen roses for my wife, too, to—

It’s four o’clock in the morning, the alarm clock on my television wakes me up with a loud crackle of static. I can’t afford cable. I climb from my bunk and dress for work, careful not to wake my cellmate. Another day in prison. Too bad I had to wake up. If it weren’t for the dream, I don’t think I could wake up and make it through another day.

Maybe one day, instead of waking from the dream, I’ll wake to the dream.

Between a Rock and a Hard Place

The relationship that I share with my family has never been that great. I’m the oldest of four by almost three years and from the age of eight the responsibility of maintaining the household was mine, as both of my parents worked long hours. I never had a normal childhood because of this, and a close sibling relationship never developed because I was seen as more of an authority figure than a brother.

When I was younger, my father had an affair which produced another child. My mother found out about this and attempted suicide after a legal separation. I was old enough to understand the situation in part, but never knew the truth. Eventually my parents worked their relationship out and renewed their wedding vows.

Growing up, I can remember that there was a distinct lack of emotional and affectionate expression within the family. Anger was the one emotion shown freely and though instances of physical abuse occurred near the time of my incarceration, verbal and emotional abuse was a constant occurrence in my life. For some reason, my siblings were almost never the focus of it; I drew the brunt of it all.

When I was 14, I discovered the details about my half-sister for the first time. I instantly resented the years of deception by my parents and my relationship with them, however twisted it may have been, was shattered. From that point on, I chose to do whatever I wanted to, and often times did things to instigate trouble. In combination with other aspects of my life, things quickly spiraled out of control.

Today, our relationship remains toxic. Because of the things that were done just prior to my incarceration, my family places the sole blame for every problem in their individual lives on me and, admittedly, I deserve some of the blame. There exists a great amount of anger, resentment, and fear within the individual members of my family that is directed toward me.

The trouble is that my family is completely blind to the issues that we face as a family. I am constantly reminded of the part I played in our issues, and the effects that has had on the family. I am also made a scapegoat for their own unresolved feelings and issues. It is as if resolving my personal issues will also resolve theirs.

This leaves me with a troubling problem. More than anything else in this world, I want my family to be healed and to be a part of my life. As things stand now, that cannot happen. Though my own issues are no longer an obstacle to healing, theirs are still in the way. I realize that I can do nothing about this and that, because they continue to deny the reality of the situation, things will probably never be resolved.

Because my family has such a negative effect on my life, I can now clearly see that in order to continue my own progress and have a chance at succeeding in life, I must cut them from it.
Only it’s not that simple. First of all, I love my family, no matter how dysfunctional it is. Love is what makes any decision regarding my family important and hard to make.

Also, I’m extremely stubborn. I know that my family is bad for me, and cutting them from my life is the right thing to do at this point, yet do I want to do it?

I know that I cannot heal my family on my own. I can do nothing to resolve their issues. I cannot change things. Yet I don’t want to give up. Even though I know that the issue is not mine anymore, I see my family the way it is as a failure of mine and I never let a failure go unresolved.

I must choose between three options. The first is to cut my family from my life and move on. No doubt this will cause me a great deal of pain and guilt added to that which I already feel. It will also hurt them and leave them with unanswered questions. I do not know if I have the strength to spare for the weight it will place on my already overloaded conscience.

The second option is to let my family know exactly where I stand and let them choose to either acknowledge and resolve their issues or continue with their lives without me. This could completely backfire on me by allowing them to the opportunity to deceive me as they have in the past.

However, it could open their eyes to reality and be the first real step in achieving my goal of repairing my broken family. What I need to say to them though, will definitely stir the pot of already volatile emotions, and make it fairly easy for them to blame me for shattering the fragile relationship that is currently in existence.

My third choice is to accept things as they are and continue the charade that suggests that things will eventually get better. If I do this, my family’s toxicity threatens my very life. The constant negativity that exists in my family has caused me to break in my past; twice leading to violent encounters that have resulted in incarceration, and once in an attempted suicide. It is almost certain that if things continue as they are, such an event may occur again--either by my own actions or the emotion-driven actions of another family member.

Coming up on parole, the need to make decisions such as these are instrumental to my chances of success in life. My issues run far deeper than criminality, incarceration, and the need to learn how to live an adult life. My family issues further complicate an already complicated life, and the decisions I must make regarding them are far from easy.

Whatever decision I make, I can be sure that its consequences will affect the course of my life.

I only wish that I didn’t have to choose.

The Reality Of Prison

How do you imagine the reality of prison? Imagine that you have spent the last ten or so years behind bars. What do you imagine you would feel? What is your life really like? What is it that you miss the most? What is it that you hate the most about being in prison? What is the emotional impact of the experience as a whole?

Most people can not imagine the reality of being in prison. The thought of being in prison never crosses their mind, and, likely, never will. Of course, people believe that they have an “idea’ of what it might be like. This “idea” is built from a mix of Hollywood portrayals and reality television. However, Hollywood strips the experience of most of the truth and fabricates action and plots that make it more exciting than it really is. Reality television or documentaries cover only the real action, exaggerating it to seem like riots and stabbings occur on a daily basis. I have yet to watch anything on television or read anything in a book or magazine that accurately depicts the prison experience on a real and personal basis.

So what is it really like? The answer depends on whether you are a true criminal; a person who exhibits anti-social behavior in every aspect of their lives and a thought pattern that leads to negative actions and consequences without any real caring, exhibiting a maturity level comparable to that of a young child; or a “normal” person; one who values family and freedom, has a care for the rights and feelings of others, respects the manners and morals possessed by most of society, and grasps the concept of rules and why they are important.

For a true criminal, the lack of guilt and the inability to sympathize and empathize with others prohibits them from understanding the effect their actions have on others, Their narcissism prevents them from caring. They are able to accept prison as part of their normal life because they are able to see it as an inevitable result of their conduct. While they are in prison, they spend the majority of their time playing card games, laughing and joking with other like-minded individuals. They tell their “war stories” and take pride in their criminality. The reality of prison for them is just a continuation of the life that they lived outside of prison, without the “perks.”

True criminals believe that the world is centered around them. Their family and friends are believed to be obligated to take care of them while they are incarcerated. The have no care for rehabilitation in any sense of the term and put on a show when it is time to show they are a changed man. They constantly complain about “the system” because they feel they are being treated unjustly and unfairly when they are not being catered to. It is the ultimate “me against the world” mentality. Prison is just another place to them, holding no special meaning.

I know. I used to fit right in with them.

For a normal person, prison is very different. It is not the loss of freedom that affects a normal person. It is all of the little things that are experienced because of a lengthy prison sentence that hold meaning. It is all of these small things that are never thought of by anyone until they are pit in the situation to experience it. It is all of the things that are taken for granted outside of the cage.

In the beginning, the emotions are a gamut of negativity. Guilt, heartache, anger, sadness and fear overwhelm you to the point of agony. The sum of these emotions is so great it totally consumes you. However, these emotions are only the beginning of the hell that you are about to face. They barely scratch the surface and are the product of the shock of what led you to the situation in which you find yourself.

When you first come to prison, you find that it is not at all what you thought it would be. After the shock wears off, you fall into the typical routine: eat, sleep, and recreate. You will find that you do not really “fit in” with those around you. You begin to shun the normal activities everyone else participates in, avoiding conversation and contact with other inmates. Being around most other inmates makes you feel uncomfortable. You start looking down on the people around you because you disagree with the lifestyle they lead and feel as if you are a better person than they are.

Yet even this is tolerable.

What makes being in prison hard to cope with for a normal person are the moods that you find yourself in due to the things outside of prison that affect your emotions. A year or two into your sentence, your friends start to disappear. At first, you received mail every day from everybody. Now, however, you do not get as much mails as you used to. You start to feel as if time has stopped for you when you were sent to prison, but has continued on for those on the outside—a feeling that never leaves. You tire of the routine and look for something constructive to fill your time with be it work-related or education; anything that keeps your mind from getting dull and takes it off the fact that you are in prison.

After about five years, you find out who your friends really are. Maybe one or two still write or visit, everyone else has moved on in their lives without you. Even the majority of your family no longer writes on a consistent basis, if at all. You immerse yourself in school or work to keep from sinking into a depression. You feel forgotten and forsaken. The loneliness of not being able to have physical contact with those you love is all but unbearable.

This is also about the time you realize that you do need to change some of your ways after seeing yourself reflected in your peers. You go to the rehabilitative programs, which rarely teach you anything or show you something about yourself that you don’t already know. You figure out that that these programs do not have much to offer you and you are on your own when it comes to fixing the problems that you see in yourself. This is a long road, but it is the necessity of it that drives you to take it.

After about ten years, there is nothing left to focus on but prison. The routine is set and even transferring to another prison doesn’t change it. There aren’t any more educational opportunities to take advantage of. You really loathe the people you are forced to be around 24 hours a day. Your focus shifts to internal thoughts.

The internal thoughts dictate the emotions and moods so deep into a lengthy sentence. All memories, good or bad, do nothing but bring pain. Writing to the one or two people that you are still in contact with becomes an arduous task because you have nothing to say that isn’t related to the negativity of your experience. Thinking about getting out scares you. Thinking what your life will be like when you get out seems like nothing more than a fantasy. Thinking about what your life could have been makes you cry. Thinking about your life as it is makes you depressed and angry.

For a normal person, it impossible to avoid depression in prison. Ever day becomes misery, and is reflected in everything you say and do. You feel totally empty and unfulfilled. There is nothing to fill that void except hope and even that is weak. You seem emptiness of mind and escape from your prison outside and in. For a normal person, prison is the embodiment of misery on a level that can not be described, only experienced.

This is what makes prison life hard to cope with for a non-criminal. This is the true penalty for losing control and committing a violent crime. This is the justice of the justice system. The loss of individual freedom is small in comparison.

As for me, I fight the depression and loneliness on a daily basis. I struggle to mate the “What could have been” with the “What could be” and the “What I want,” every day--for that is the source of the strength I need to cope with my life as it is.

Imagine that.

The Power of Choice

With my potential release from prison looming on the horizon, I am struggling to prepare myself to face the many challenges such a transition will undoubtedly present. One of those challenges has been foremost in my thoughts recently and has elicited a fear response from my psyche because it is something that I am unable to prepare for. Overcoming this challenge is probably the most detrimental part of my success in the transition from prison to life.
For my entire thirty years my life has been dictated by others and lived within the bounds of a tight structure. The few instances that I have deviated from the structure in my life and made my own choices didn’t turn out so well. I am accustomed to being told what I can and cannot do, what to wear, what to eat, and how to spend my time.
We all experience limited control over our lives as children. Our parents dress us. Our parents feed us. Our parents tell us when it’s time to go to sleep. From the age of five until we graduate, we go to school, which has its own set of rules, its own dictates and runs on a tight schedule. There is surprisingly little freedom of choice as a child, and in that respect, prison life is similar to life as a child.
I went directly from childhood, albeit a troubled one resembling more a life of abusive servitude than that of a child, to prison. I have spent nearly half my life in prison where I have absolutely no real freedom of choice. I do as I’m told, eat as I’m told, wear what I’m told, and even wake when I am told.
My entire day is rigidly structured around four head counts and three meals. The time in between them is spent working as I’m told, where I’m told, and when I’m told; in recreation which is limited by certain guidelines; or in educational or rehabilitative programming. I have been doing the exact same things, in the exact same way, at the exact same times, for years on end. My life can be lived mechanically.
There is a certain comfort to be found in all of this. When decisions about how to live your life are not yours to make, the responsibilities tied to them are also out of your hands. Worry and stress all but disappear. I know exactly what the next day, or week, or month is going to bring. This is how my life is different from yours.
I’m not naïve enough to believe that people get to dictate their own lives. I know that life dictates itself but that as it plays out, circumstances present themselves that require choices to be made, and that people are free to make choices that determine the outcome of the circumstances.
What triggers my fear is how foreign that concept is for me. My choices have been limited by both the rigid structure of my life and limited to those not already made for me. The only important choice I have had to make in my life is the one that led me to prison.
What is going to happen when I am free to make the choices that determine the path my life takes? What is going to happen when I find that I enjoy something, but that something is counterproductive to the goals I have set for myself? What is going to happen if the road I’ve taken begins to get a bit rough and I have the option to continue on or take the easy way out? What am I going to do when I don’t know what tomorrow will bring?
The truth is I don’t know. I can’t even imagine it. Of course I know already what the right choices are for almost every decision I will ever face in life, but I don’t know if I will be able or willing to make the right decisions. There is no way to prepare for that.
Hopefully, I will find it to be easier than I think it will be and I’m making much ado about nothing. If not, I hope my fears about failure push me always in the right direction.

Preparing for a Life I Have Never Known

I have now begun my final year and the end is in sight though it seems as if it is as accessible as Saturn viewed through a telescope. Unlike the passing of any other type of anniversary, the passing of this one certainly does make me feel different. Since I awoke on January 23rd, I feel a growing sense of anticipation, anxiety, and urgency with each passing day.
There is so much I have to do in preparation for the parole-related interviews and for my release. I must plan as if I will be paroled, no matter how unlikely the probability of my actual release.
Preparing for the interviews I the easy part for me, I have to be ready with an answer for any questions they may ask and I must be confident when giving the answers. That much comes to me naturally; it is the other stuff the interviewers want to see that is a bit difficult.
I need to show everyone that I have a short-term plan for my transition back into society. I want to have it written out in a professional manner for the purpose of appearance. The problem is that I have never lived life as an adult outside of prison so I am trying to plan for something in which I have no experience.
My confidence dies here. I don’t know how to live a normal life.
I also want to have a long-term plan to present to the Parole Board, detailing where I want to be in life five, ten, and twenty years after my release. This is much easier than the short-term plan. Of course, my long-term plan will be an honest representation of my goals, but even I know that the dynamics of life make long-term planning more fluid than short-term planning. My goals will change, at least a little but, to fit the circumstances that life presents.
The Parole Board requires that I submit a home plan, a definite address to which I will be released. My options are very limited here. Due to difficulties in the relationship that I have with my immediate family, the only options I have are a cousin and his mother. If they can’t or won’t let me use them for my home plan, I must find a halfway house or other transitional housing that will accept me.
The Parole Board also requires that I provide a written version of the offenses I am convicted of, but it is not that straightforward. They are looking for signs that you are trying to justify your actions, signs of remorse, and signs of rehabilitation. A copy of the police report doesn’t cut it, nor does a casual, nonchalant explanation of events. I am not looking forward to having to re-live the emotions I felt that day of my crime as I detail it in writing.
Finally there are a lot of things I must do for my own personal preparation. I must study the driver’s manual so that I can get my driver’s license as soon as possible after my release. I must review everything that I have learned about personal financial planning so that I do not end up in a dire position because I did not manage my finances properly. I must research technical schools, colleges, and financial aid options so that I can continue the education I need to make my career goals achievable. I must get a handle on the real cost of living in the area to which I will be released so that I am not blindsided by it. These things and others related to living outside of prison may seem small but they are important.
My plate is full. In the back of my mind there is a fear that I may not be able to handle all of it. There is also a fear that I may sabotage it out of my anxiety over the coming transition. The best way I can describe what I will be facing is to compare it to a phenomenon in the animal kingdom; I am being born into the world and abandoned to learn how to survive on my own.
Wish me luck.

Stripped Bare By Beauty

For those who know me personally, it is no secret that I am a pretty dour individual, prone to bad moods, cynicism, and overall melancholy. Given my experiences in my nearly thirty years of life, over half of which I have spent incarcerated, I believe this is acceptable; the sun doesn’t shine at night.

Over the years, I have learned to find inspiration in the darkness that dominates my life and the negativity of the world in which I live. My writing and music reflect this, being filled with subject matter like drug use, suicide, violence, hate, anger and references to demons, evil, and other things that show a disdain for life. Like Poe, the ugliness in life is often my muse.

These images, however, compose only a small part of my being even though they dominate my exterior world. I do see the beauty in life, though my standard of beauty is hard to meet. Usually I find it only exhibited in the innocence of childhood, the subtleties that express the love of family and friendship, and the rawness of undefiled nature. Rarely do things that are created by man make the grade. When I do see beauty, I am never inspired by it, preferring to simply admire the awesomeness of its power.

Almost nobody has ever seen this in me, even the rare person who has seen me stripped of the many masks I wear. Since I have been incarcerated for most of my life, to witness this is near impossible. With that in mind, I will share with you the most recent event that elicited such a response in me.

I am an avid fan of figure skating and ice dancing and have been since I was a child. I prefer women’s figure skating and pairs dancing over the male side of the sport, but only because the male side is almost comically acrobatic. For me, the sport is about beauty, emotion, and performance, as opposed to structured athleticism.

Two skaters in this year’s Olympic Women’s Figure Skating Championship left me tearfully stunned by their performances during the competition. The first skater, Canadian Bronze Medalist Joannie Rochette, is an emotional story. Two days prior to her short-program performance, her mother died of a massive heart attack. In spite of her heartbreaking loss, she took the ice and gave a miraculous performance, leaving her in a quite unexpected third place. It was her free skate performance, however, that was truly amazing.

Though one of the elite skaters in the world, Ms. Rochette is not considered to be one of the best, especially when compared to the top two ranked performers, who are far and above the rest of the competition. Her free skate did not reflect this. As emotional and well skated as her short program was, her free skate was, by far, the best performance of her life, leaving her only 2.5 points shy of a silver medal. This was overshadowed by the emotion expressed in her performance and the beauty of her spiral sequence. Though technically on point, the way that you could read her love for her mother and see her reflecting on the life they shared together in her eyes, as well as knowing her story and the courage it took to compete left me, and the commentators, speechless. I have never experienced such a thing in my life. It was simply beautifully wonderful.

The second skater, Kim Yun-Na, the gold medalist from the Republic of Korea, also brought me to tears in both her short program and free skate performances. Both were near perfect technically, and the most difficult in element ever attempted, earning her the highest score ever recorded by an amazing 18 points. This fact in itself is awe-inspiring.

The beauty of her performances was unrivaled by anything I have ever seen. The choreography, the lines of Kim Yun-Ya’s body as she performed the elements of the program, the technical precision of the jumps, the grace and flow of her movements, the music she skated to, and her genuine expressions all combined to become the most beautiful man-made creation I have ever witnessed. The individual nature of the performance, the active nature of the sport, and the personal element of the moment made it an experience that can never be repeated or experienced in the same way again. It, too, was wonderfully beautiful.

The story behind Joannie Rochette’s performance and what it aided her in accomplishing was what made her achievement so beautiful and meaningful. Whereas it was the elements themselves and the way they were performed that put the beauty in Kim Yun-Na’s performance. Both amazed me and inspired me enough to write about my experience. Most of all, they allowed me to move a bit further away from the negativity that dominates my exterior and have given me the opportunity to share a part of myself that few realize I possess.

Ugliness may be my muse, but true beauty is my savior.

The Key to Happiness

There is one question every child in this and many other countries is asked: What do you want to be when you grow up? Many of us are asked this question more than once. I can remember the first time I was asked this question by my kindergarten teacher. My response was immediate, certain, and emphatic: I want to be an astronaut.

My other classmates were just as sure of their fantasies as they replied that they wanted to be doctors, police officers, firemen, actresses, or rock stars. In that time of naïve innocence, all of us think about becoming what we may dream of without any regard to all of the other things that life entails or how hard we must work to make these fantasies come to life. Our equation was simple: We simply wanted and expected to become our fantasy.

As we grew older and gained a more firm grasp on who we thought ourselves to be and experienced more of this thing called life, our fantasy lives changed to things more practical and we began to take steps in the direction needed to make the fantasy real. By fifth grade, I wanted to become a teacher. I liked the idea of being able to share my knowledge and wisdom with others in a way that would help them. Though the desire to be a teacher was more firm than my earlier desire to go to space, my dream of becoming a teacher lacked one important thing. It lacked the knowledge of what life is really about, and anticipation of all the obstacles that would come between me and my dream. Nevertheless I never lost sight of the dream as I entered puberty and then high school.

Then life as I knew it fell apart and I began my cycle of self-destruction.

Unless I am able to find some legal loophole, my attempted homicide conviction has put an end to my dream of becoming a teacher. I still want to teach, and am in fact a teacher in prison. I once held an institutional work assignment tutoring students for their GED, and I recently held a job tutoring the international Computer Driver’s License class here in my facility. Now I unofficially tutor individuals willing to pay for instruction on obtaining their GED, adult basic education, building maintenance, automobile repair, HVAC-R, music theory, guitar playing, and bass guitar playing. Though I enjoy doing it, my dream of teaching is far different from the tutoring I actually do.

Since coming to prison, I have had many different dreams for my life once I am released. Being in prison, there is a lot of time to think about things like that if you care to. I was going to own a large-scale building maintenance company, contracting to do industrial and commercial business. I was going to become a studio musician, able to play all modern rock music instruments. I was going to be a landscape architect, designing real estate subdivisions. I was going to make money in the stock market. I was going to build custom cars and motorcycles. I was going to be a tattoo artist, and I was going to write fantasy novels for a living.

Every dream was career-oriented. There was little room for anything else that one dreams about in life until after I made one of those dreams real. Over the years, I have taken every available step to gain enough knowledge in each area that I have mentioned to make any one of those dreams a realistic possibility, dependent on the opportunities that may present themselves to me at a particular time.

Real life, however, was still an afterthought, and given little weight in my pursuit to eventually live a successful life.

Everybody experiences dreams of success during their early adult lives. For most of these people, securing their dream career is their number one priority. But once the dreamer experiences a little financial independence, life somehow gets in the way and he often falls victim to just going with the flow. Falling in love, having children, the cost of living, and a host of other things quickly push us in different directions and change our dreams and priorities. We realize we may still have success in life, but we find that what makes us successful is not what we originally set out to accomplish.

What makes for a successful life? I have come to realize that the answer to that question is really simple. Life is successful if when you are in your final years you are satisfied with everything you have done to the point that it brings you happiness. If when you die, you die with a smile on your face, you have lead a successful life.

Life is about finding happiness. Amazingly, it was a man who will never have a chance to realize his dreams that revealed it to me. Over the course of four years we had many conversations about life and it was the fact that he was well on his way to happiness before a bad decision ruined it that showed me the importance of what life is about.

Most people in prison never think about their childhood dreams, nor do they ever realize or even care to know about what life is really about. They are true sociopaths, showing concern only for themselves, living in the moment, acting on impulse, seeking instant gratification, and have no concern for anything beyond the NOW. They do not think too far ahead in life and do not care about the consequences of their actions.

Some even consider coming to prison a small price they have to pay for the life they lead outside of prison. They define success in terms of money, fame, or social status. They care only for the things they have in their possession right now, and if something like a child comes into their life, it is considered a burden because it gets in the way of what they really want.

Ironically, it is the people who will never leave the confines of prison that have a true grasp on this reality. Over time they realize what they have thrown away and attempt to find a way to seek happiness in their situation, and to give the life they now have real meaning. They pursue religion, education, charity, and they try to help people like me find the right path. They seek to do anything and everything that may bring them a sense of accomplishment and joy.

Today, I find I can relate to them better than the other inmates, the ones just passing through, and I hold myself apart from the far majority of inmates, because, as obnoxious as this may sound, I do consider myself to be different from and better than them.

Once again, my dreams have changed. I am no longer so focused on the career aspect of my life. I do think about it and have an idea of what I would like to spend my life doing in order to support myself, but it no longer holds too much importance in the grand scheme of things. I no longer care about how much money I make, as long as it is enough to get by without a struggle. I don’t think about finding or building a dream home or fancy car. I do have a strong desire to help troubled teens, as I once was, before they end up in same situation that I have, fighting to find a way to live my dreams.

All of that, however, is secondary to me. If I can make any or all of that happen in my life it will be a bonus. My ultimate happiness will be found in being a loving husband and father, devoted to making the dreams of my wife and children come true. I want to be able to provide for the needs of my family and experience the love and the wonder, the good and the bad, the easy and the hard, all of the aspects of family life.

No candle can shine next to that. If I can make that dream a reality, I will die a happy man.

The next time someone asks me what I want to be in life my response will be as immediate, as certain, and said with more emphasis and enthusiasm than it was when I was in kindergarten: I want to be a family man, nothing more, and nothing less.