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Conviction Envy

Insomnia, Listening

Three times in one night
a small animal crosses the length of the ceiling.
Each time it goes all the way one way,
all the way back, without hesitation or pause.

Envy that sureness.

It is like being cut-flowers, between the field and the vase.

from Seventeen Pebbles
by Jane Hirshfield

For the longest time I thought the title of this poem was Envy. Because I've always looked with wonder at people who project the fullest confidence in their capabilities, their skills and talents, their beliefs. People who talk big, walk tall and live even bigger. This poem -- and the way it fits in my life -- could just as well be called Conviction, which I sorely lack... which brings me back to Envy. I have conviction-envy. It's like penis envy, only worse.
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