Corey

When we were boys, my friend Corey knew exactly what he wanted to be when we grew up. While I was still daydreaming about being the next Michael Jordan, Corey wanted to be like Clyde, his lobsterman grandfather. On Saturday mornings I’d be in my parent’s driveway pretending to take the winning shot in the final seconds of the NBA Finals—narrated in my best broadcaster voice—and Corey would be hauling traps with Clyde. By the time I was looking at colleges and trying to decide what to do with my life, Corey was deciding what size lobster boat to buy and looking at houses.

I thought he was crazy at the time. But now I appreciate the clarity Corey had at such a young age. He knew what he wanted to do, and he did it. I don’t know if he ever had a dark night of the soul, wondering what the hell to do with his life. I don’t remember a time when I didn’t think of Corey as a lobsterman. He still is, all these years later.

It’s been a longer path to clarity for me. A path I’m enjoying. A path I’m still on.