Warm days like this and the right books can do things to a girl’s head.

This morning I was on the train, thinking selfish things about myself and wondering if I’d always been so bull-headed about my own abilities. False modesty? Spades of it. Self-deprecation? Yup. Lazy? Self-absorbed? Uncertain about her self-esteem? Check, check, check.

Gradually one’ll get a headache if she repeats this same argument over and over again, so I decided to focus on something else. Worry about a certain cat versus a prospective caretaker whom I need to call to see if he was serious about his offer versus worries about money versus only a few hours to revise a story I hadn’t liked from the beginning even if other people thought it wasn’t bad. No, this is potential migraine material, too. Onward.

Hmmm, there was last night. It was the first cell group meeting I’d attended in awhile, and actually, it’d been pretty nice. Good food and good company, good conversations. Jim Oberg had offered a pleasant surprise when he’d pitched in during the prayer time for the needs that had been raised. I remembered the first time I’d ever met him and contrasted him to the man I knew now; he was very much a changed man.

And now I realize that it will always be like this: a mingle of complicated problems and simple blessings, selfish endeavors and selfless outreach, and all the while humanity’s trying to make sense of this thing called life that they, whether they like it or not, are infinitely connected to and influenced by, as a concept or philosophy or as reality.

That’s life, all right.