After all is said, there is still no greater love. World without end.

I’ve been really lucky in this life. I know this, and yet sometimes I still have the myopic tendency to sink into moments of self-pity. How lame. I can only imagine someone who really has it bad (and also has the ability to read minds) walking by me on the street during a particularly low point (it often happens while walking down the street, for some reason) and thinking, “Yo bitch, you don’t know what it means to be down on yo’ luck, yo.” (I have no idea why this person’s internal monologue would occur it really bad street.)

It’s true. Not only was I born with a (so far) fully functioning body and mind (complete with a modicum of agility, 20/20 vision, straight teeth, clear skin, a decent build, and a somewhat rational disposition that has always afforded me the ability to get what I want and/or need), but I’ve also always enjoyed a life of relative comfort and privilege. I mean, sure I struggle like everyone else I know, but I’ve never had to worry about whether or not I’d have somewhere to go home to or where my next meal would be coming from. And add to that the fact that I was lucky enough to be born into a large and close-knit family that has always afforded me the utmost in unconditional love and support, and hell, I’d say that even a single self-pitying moment justifies a nice quick dose of divine reality-checking ironic intervention, at the very least.

And that’s just it. I think the fact that I know and recognize these things actually causes me a good deal of my daily grief. It would be so much easier if I could just greedily take it all for granted, run with it, and make use of it to my fullest advantage. But no. Instead, I wander around this city seeing example after example of how hard life can really be, and I read the news and surf the net and see just how horrible things are for people all over the world (in many/most cases as a result of the type of life that I lead in this type of country), and I feel guilty. First, because I have it so good when others so don’t, and then because I have the stones to be walking down the street pitying myself at that particular moment in time. It’s like a double-whammy of guilt.

But wait. There’s more. A third stop in the vicious cycle is that I then inevitably end up feeling that the worst tragedy of all is that I’ve somehow not taken the fullest advantage of all that I’ve been granted in this life—not made effective use of all of the “gifts” that I’ve been given. My existence has been, at best, inconsequential, and at worst, entirely wasteful. And guess what that leads to. More guilt.

Damn, maybe I should take back that description of my “somewhat rational disposition.” God, you’d think I was like Catholic or Jewish or something.