thinking too much?

I've been thinking about death. About birth. About my sense of total ineptitude. About my wish that there were a guidebook on how to handle a variety of social situations, especially those fraught with emotion and pain and loss. I realize there is a guide book. That is rests within the rib case. My heart guides me. Or it could, were it not for my coward's stomach, nervous and twitchy, my stomach's cautions are heeded and result in inaction / apathy / nothingness.

But sometimes my heart wins out. Probably more often than I think. Sometimes the courage blossoms from my chest and spews out my mouth or my feet or my hands. Sometimes, despite my terror, I have the courage to shout "stop!" To step up and make the simplest of choices: to speak. To act. That tiniest of decisions that can domino out in ways impossible to predict. For better or worse, this life is not a play. There is no predetermined ending. No writer to ensure I have a journey and my lessons, to me the right thing to say. I am — each of us are — entirely on my own; making decisions, saying words, taking action, doing my very best.

It just feels so woefully inadequate when faced with the mysterious monoliths of loss and life.

I worry about the kind of person I am. I have for a long time. Since Marc told me he worried about the kind of person I am. Am I good enough? Is my heart true? Do I have integrity? Am I too stubborn, obstinate? Am I mean? Do I treat people with honour and respect? Can I make it through this life without hurting any more people? Is that even possible? Am I good enough?

And what is it that I need to be good enough for?

This is a heavy weight, these high standards.