When life was going well, I spent no time questioning the justice of fortune. For all of the times I acted recklessly and got away with it, I did not stop to examine the grace bestowed upon me- never pondered why I was born with advantages, or why I could stumble about recklessly, taking great risks- surviving un-injured (and somehow even loved).
These days (over a year of debilitating illness), when I look around my apartment- the way the sun shines through delicate lace curtains, the neatly hung photographs of sand and shore, the brightly colored spines of my treasured books, the silvery keyboard clicking beneath my fingertips- it occurs to me that I am a miserable, unproductive wretch living in a palace. But in a way, even before my illness, this was true. I have been blessed beyond comprehension.