Confession

I know that there are people for whom life isn't a struggle.  I also know that I am uncommonly blessed with a beautiful family, good relations with siblings and in-laws, a job I enjoy and find enormously satisfying, and dear friends who continue to enrich my life in so many ways.  

Yet here's the thing about where I find myself, at 34-1/2 years old:  there isn't a single area of my life where I don't perceive some struggle.  Living itself, from the getting up to the laying down, comes to me as a set of challenges, difficulties, problems to be confronted.  

Does something good happen, either by fortune or desert?  My reaction:  don't screw it up, Hill. 

Does the back yard look nice?  My reaction: better see if you can do something about those weeds over there--and remember, better check on the roses and the vegetables.  

Does someone tell me I'm impressive/wonderful/good?  My reaction:  thanks, but only if you knew the whole truth.  I'll try not to let you down, though.  

Do I enjoy a pleasurable moment with a loved one?  My reaction:  don't screw it up, Hill.

I can't remember a time when it wasn't this way, and only recently have I begun to realize that not everybody's mind works in these ruts.  Believe me, I'm not trying to claim any kind of mantle of advanced thoughtfulness or tortured artist syndrome.  Hayumbone always says that one of the ways to be the right kind of person is to know your own issues--so here it is.  One of my issues.  

I don't know why I decided to share this with you, but it's the truth.  I do try to be honest, at least.