"But will it change my wife?" - Annie Hall

I love my life. I mean I really love my life. I love everything about it. I love where I live, where I drive each day, the structure of our family, our church, the grocery store where I shop, how I drive to work (and how little time it takes me to get there), the flexibility of my schedule. And to go even deeper: my kids and the ages they are right now (so fun), my husband and how dynamic and interesting he is, how funny and smart he is... Wow. I love my life. I am so incredibly blessed.

I was just driving back from the grocery store and thinking about how much I love my life made me speak it out loud. That happens with some regularity. And then I asked aloud, "I say I love my life and really own that, why am I afraid it will be taken away?" I often feel a sense of terror on the heels of feeling incredible gratitude for my life's circumstances. It's as if God isn't noticing my abundance until I open my big mouth and then all of a sudden He (or It or what have you) sees that I have too much. I got too big a helping of the main course and the universe will have to right that and exercise some portion control making it even-Steven. We can't have Paige so full of herself.

Where does that notion come from? Why would I be afraid to thank God for all the blessings in my life? Why do I think I fly under the radar unnoticed if I am happy and feeling good? Do I really think that God exists only to pity me but not to rejoice with me? Do I really think God hands out portions? Or do I actually believe that I claim my piece of the pie... That I am responsible for some of this... That is what I believe, but this other insidious notion skulks in and sits in the corner just waiting until I feel so lucky, grateful, overwhelmed by my good fortune. Then BAM, like a 2x4.

It's one of the things I'd like to eliminate. I feel a lot like the character Annie Hall, (remember this?) having just seen The Sorrow and the Pity (I paraphrase):

Annie Hall: that movie makes me feel guilty
Alvy Singer (Woody): It's supposed to
Annie Hall: Sometimes I ask myself how I'd stand up under torture.
Alvy Singer: You? You kiddin'? If the Gestapo would take away your Bloomingdale's charge card, you'd tell 'em everything.

I guess my feeling of fear at the luck and blessings of my life (I say luck, b/c there's a certain luck in being born white in America, for instance) is also a fear that if something terrible happened to me I wouldn't be the kind of person who feels gratitude anymore. I'd crack and descend into feelings of self-pity and woe-is-me. And I don't know that that's true, but I fear it.