I want to be a better writer. Every time I start typing—be it for work, for a post or even an email—I want to write something that people will read and say, “Hey, that was really cool.” I want the words and sentences and ideas and images to bubble up and out of my mind like the Trevi Fountain in Rome, as opposed to the way I write now, which seems like getting every word out of my head is like pulling an old tire full of concrete up from the mucky bottom of a swamp. I want it to be effortless. And beautiful. And brilliant …

I don’t need to be a rich and famous bestseller (although it’d be nice), but I’d like to be able to consistently produce content that’s either so thought-provoking or so touching or so amusing that everyone is looking for the “like” or “share” button when they finish reading it, even if there isn’t one.

I wish my writing was so terrific that people wanted to read it because they loved it, not out of some sense of duty, which I know is often the case.

I want to be a better parent. Every morning when I wake up and see my sons, I want to be able to find an extra 12 hours in the day so I can spend it with them where all I do is show them cool things in the world, teach them everything they need to know to succeed and have fun, too.

I want to make sure my kids are not only happy, but well-adjusted, independent and able to take care of themselves. I want to them to be smart, trustworthy, loyal, helpful, friendly, courteous, kind, obedient, cheerful, thrifty, brave, clean and irreverent—not exactly perfect boy scouts (open minds and hearts, please!), but perfect humans because I devoted so much to them and didn’t have to do things like work, go to meetings or try to carve out some “me” time on occasion.

All right, I know they’ll never be perfect—and really, I don’t want them to be—but I’d like them to be perfectly happy and normal humans. Okay, not “normal,” but abby normal in the way where they get that joke because I’ve made sure to expose them to all the fun things I experienced in my childhood, and then some.

They haven’t shot the President … yet. I desperately don’t want to fail them any more than I feel like I may already be doing.

I want to be a better husband. Every day when my wife wakes up and sees my lumpy head on the pillow next to her, I want her to feel like she made the best decision that anyone anywhere ever has made … but I know some (many) days it doesn’t feel like that. Not because we fight or don’t get along any more, but because with kids, jobs and life constantly getting in the way, it’s a challenge to find time to for just the two of us.

I’d love to make her feel even more loved than when we said, “I do,”  because I do love her more than that long ago September day. I want to be more supportive, take more on my back so she can do the things she wants and needs to do. I want always to be a source of comfort and happiness rather than the irritant that I seem to be unable stop myself from being to her (and many others) on a regular basis. Reducing the challenge that it is to live with me is on my mental agenda every day; making it happen is another story that I often seem incapable of writing.

She’s not a girl who wants to be showered with flowers, candy or shiny expensive things, but it’d be nice to give them to her on more occasions than I do now rather than be worried about having enough money for heating oil or toilet paper. I want her to always feel as special as she is.

To put it in legal terms, since she is a lawyer—I need to do a better job of being a full partner in this firm. Every day and in every way.

I want to be a better brother and friend. I have five nephews and a niece, and I’m not sure that all of them could pick me out of a police lineup (hopefully, they’ll never have to). Like with my own kids, I wish there were more hours in the day to spend with them, more occasions to be together so they will have some nice memories of Uncle Ray rather than some vague notion of that guy who came around on Christmas and drank a lot of Coke.

I try to stay in touch with my siblings, my siblings-in-law and my friends, but is that enough? In my head, there’s a list of all of them, and I keep rotating through the list trying to give each of them some sort of attention, be it getting together, giving them a phone call, sending them a text or liking something they post. I know there’s only so much I can do, but what I do know doesn’t even seem like nearly enough.

I have helped friends and family move, driven them to airports and tried to be supportive in whatever ways I can, but ultimately, I spend more time on myself and my needs because I have an incredible selfish streak—I’d like to narrow that one and widen my altruistic one.

I want to be a better person. A *much* more better person, like one that they write songs about or erect statues of. Like, I want to win a Pulitzer Prize, a Nobel Prize, an Academy Award, an Emmy, a Presidential Medal of Freedom, a Bloggie and a Nickelodeon Kid’s Choice Award because of all the cool stuff I do. I’d love to be unanimously made King of the World because of how awesome I am—if that’s not aiming too high.

I want to be better. I know I can do better, and I try to do so every day. But trying and succeeding are two very different things. “Do or do not; there is no try,” right, Yoda? Well, I want to skew closer to Nike ads and “Just do it.”

I know I might be happier with a Stuart Smalley view of the world—”I’m good enough, I’m smart enough, and doggone it, people like me.“—but why aim low? I’m sure there’s probably about a bajillion inspirational, clichéd quotations I can throw up here, but in the end, only I can make me better.