I have a wonderful wife, a multitude of great friends, and a cat.
I work a lot, but do nothing like most of my friends (who end up being artists). I work on computers all day building ephemeral things that end up being real things, but still usually too small to see. I can't point to anything in the world and say "that is me". Usually more like "there's a bit of me in there." It's almost as impossible to explain the joy I get when I see things working.
To combat the existential malaise of working on things too small to see, even when they're done, I have a giant car that continues to confound me, but also delights me when I press the pedal and feel the fuel turn into a solidity of momentum that eludes me in modern vehicles.
I constantly pit my notion of the futility of effort against the very real exuberance of seeing ideas take a finished and tangible (to me) form.
I am in a losing battle with the moderation of my desires.