He was going through a hard time in his life, and I was trying to be there for him, but I was not sure how much longer my liver could take it. As his life melted around him I couldn’t help but take inventory of my own life. I discovered that I had it very well in general, not just in comparison. It almost made me feel guilty. The human experience is a series of emotional scars that we weave into an identity. My mistakes and failures made me who I am, and in the end this personal tragedy was part of what made him who he was, another part of his identity.