I have a few (fairly) Grown Up decisions to make in the next week or so – whether to accept a student loan even though I hope not to use it, how much of my medical bills I can afford to pay – all of which beg a question I often ponder: How the hell did I get put in charge of anything?

I know a few people who seem to have put themselves squarely in charge of their lives, and in their own opinions, are doing an excellent job.  This quality of agency is an important marker of mental health, apparently – which I am supposed to be striving for.  The problem is, I don’t really like being around these people very much.  I distrust their self-assurance.  It seems a glib response to the world I know, regardless of how much better it makes them feel.  In my world, losing your heart’s desire can brand you forever.  In my world, circumstances change without your consent, and you just have to grow on the best you can. In my world, believing that you are masterfully steering your own life seems to be missing the point.

Of course I yearn for a simple answer to the complications of my own heart and mind.  I am scared as hell right now – truly flying without a net (though not without a cheering section, and for that I love you all intensely.)  Yet, if that confidence comes, I think it will be from a place down low, from the very tangle at my feet.  From where all that is broken, and breakable returns to ground and yields.