Every day I wake up, look in the mirror and marvel at the gorgeous physical specimen staring back at me. I soak it all in and think about how lucky my wife is to have me.

Then I shake off the remnants of that final pre-alarm dream and take another look at the disheveled guy with unruly red locks and badass Jedi boxers.

That’s when I see the 40-year-old father of a 4-year-old daughter, a husband, and a friend to what seems to be an endless array of people. I am blessed with innumerable online "F3s" (friends, fans and followers) with whom I feel the need to connect in some way. I also feel hopelessly out of touch.

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