I wonder. I wonder if I’ve chosen well. I wonder if I’ve even chosen. I avoid choices, so often. Make my life into a series of events which happen to me, calamities and blessings which rain down like a shower of golden coins, falling heads up or tails, weal or woe.
I know things. I know things about myself. Are they good things? Mostly not. I am sure of my pettiness, my judgmentalism, and my selfishness. Maybe no more than the next person, but I know them. They are like old childhood friends, the memories of which may embarrass or hurt, but whom can no more be exorcised from memory than the smell of bread, or the feel of cold water. Knowing these things, can I then filter my thoughts and feelings, before deciding? Before making the choice to accept a choice?
What else? Is it worse to go on with doubts or to not go on with doubts? I’m unsure.
Is what I hope for impossible? I’m unsure.
Am I sure of anything?
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