The real me is flawed and fumbling. The real me is unsure, always unsure. Maybe deep inside there is a seed of absolute certainty, absolute faith. But that is not what’s on the surface, most of the time.

The outer layers are always in doubt, always wondering. Will I make it in this world? Will I mess up the things that have been given to me?

Am I worthy? Am I worthy of this love, this child, this home, this work? Am I worthy of the people I am surrounded by?

Am I worthy of the path I walk? Of my aspirations and my dreams?

Am I worthy of this world I live in? These mountains? This sunset?

This light dusting of snow.

That memory from years ago, or months.

The memory of being held by a friend, or a lover, or my mom.

Or my first kiss.

Or the many, many times I cried and prayed to God, for an answer, for a way forward.

Am I worthy of someone picking up the phone when I call?

Of Christmas?

Am I worthy of this heart that is beating in my chest?

Am I worthy of making a difference?

These questions are what live and breathe my life; they are my stride.

They threaten to tear me apart, and then, they also put me back together.

Strangely.

In a new way every time.

I only hope to be of some service as I offer what I’ve got at your door,

and you know what?

I am not even sure I know what that is.

Couldn’t describe it if you asked.

I am just a raw beating heart. I am someone pulled to your raw beating heart. And though I am unsure, if I am going to live into the next moment (sometimes it seems so hard to just endure), this pain I feel now is enough. It’s real. It’s enough.

Stone balance and photography by Michael Grab.