At this point in my life, I’m doing pretty damned well, all things considered. I’ve been doing “something with computers”—which was my dream “if I have to have a job” job—for 12 years. I’ve been married for 7 years. I’ve been a dad for 2.5 years. And yet, with all this, I feel I’ve accomplished so little.

A big part of me worries that I haven’t earned 40. I certainly don’t feel it. A big part of me worries that I’m destined to continue letting time and attention slip away, and that I’ll end up here in another 40 years with more nothing to show for it.

I don’t want to keep on doing the same old thing. I want to break some of these chains and commit to pursuing the work I’ve chosen. I also fear that there’s nothing but failure ahead—that I don’t have the vision or passion or drive to be in any way remarkable.

I don’t give a shit about being famous or recognized. I just want to do something I can be proud of, something I can stick my name on and say, “There. That. I made that and I am proud as shit because it is fantastic.”

I am literally hours away from turning 39, and right now, in this moment I feel like I have wasted so much time. Not that my wife and my kid are a waste of time—because I love them dearly and they are anything but—but because I feel like I have nothing to offer them but my love and my time and my presence. I have nothing to offer but an incomplete, imperfect, broken me.

So yeah. I’m freaking out. I’m having a major mid-life crisis. And from where I stand, I feel like the hole only gets darker and deeper.