Featured in Mindful magazine, while others celebrate, I'm filled with confusion.
I laugh at myself, recalling a poem:
I want to be famous
so I can be humble about being famous
what good is this humility
when I am stuck in this obscurity
I find solace in the way Carl Jung captured his complex feelings after writing a memoir near the end of his life:
I am astonished, disappointed, pleased with myself. I am distressed, depressed, rapturous. I am all these things at once, and cannot add up the sum. I am incapable of determining ultimate worth or worthlessness; I have no judgment about myself and my life. There is nothing I am quite sure about. I have no definite convictions--not about anything, really. I know only that I was born and exist, and it seems to me that I have been carried along. I exist on the foundation of something I do not know. In spite of all uncertainties, I feel a solidity underlying all existence and a continuity in my mode of being.