Yep

Every day, especially on Thursdays, I thank my lucky stars for how fortunate I am in almost every way.

My life is an embarrassment of riches: I have my health; I’m loved by people I love; I have a safe and stable place to lay my head every night and all the food in my cupboard and refrigerator than I ever need; I have the best dog in the world and a job that I like pretty well which pays me more than adequately; in summertime, my days are filled with yoga, meditation, reading fiction, dining al fresco on my back porch with my darling wife, taking naps in the afternoon, swimming in the lake, smoking weed, and riding my bike all around what is probably the most beautiful city in America; plus, I never have to worry about being killed by the police.

Life is fucking good.

So, I have a special responsibility to be grateful for my good fortune and to behave in ways that recognizes this and which, insofar as I am able, makes the world better for those less fortunate than me, or, at the very least, doesn’t contribute to making it harder for them in any way.

I have it good, so I’m obligated to be good.

This doesn’t mean that I can never break any rules, like jumping into the lake next to a sign that says, “No swimming or diving,” or hanging out at night in a park that closes at dusk, but it does mean it’s incumbent upon me to be mindful and aware and as kind and understanding as I can be and to pick up after myself—a small price, after all, for the benefits which accrue to me given my race, gender, age, education, and a host of other qualities that just happened to come my way, no effort on my part required.

Nobody’s perfect, least of all me, but the better I am, the better.