A political path to inner peace

I'm back.  Delinquency admitted, path readjusted, eye on the ball/balance.  *** Several months ago, following the death of my iconic Grandfather, I received a phone call from one of his peers, an Episocopalian priest from New Orleans who has known three generations of my family.  He was to be in Washington the following Sunday, and would I like to join him at the National Cathedral (where he once served as Canon) for the early Eucharist?  I enthusiastically agreed.  [Before I go any further, perhaps I should clarify my church-going habits up until that phone call.  I was what you might call a "back-door member" of the Cathedral congregation, arriving within two minutes of the procession (sometimes later), sitting and standing, singing and praying, totally delighted to be in quiet company and communion with hundreds of Washingtonians who are, like me, called to live through love.  Then comes the end of the service, when I slip out the same door I entered, smiling--but

I have been a delinquent contributor to my own life.  Thus, my absence on my blog.  I've let go, lost focus.  Fumbling on the thread of balance, I am a distracted version of the self I want to be.  *** There's this Standard.  It's something I've always held myself to, even when I was a little girl.  I was always quick to admit guilt or shortcoming, even before my parents or teachers had a chance to point it out.  I figured if I fessed up ahead of time, I would be a step ahead in the right direction.  That much closer to being better.  I have always wanted to be better.  Never good enough as I am.  And so I have lived my days, pursuing a standard set only by myself, expected only by my own imagination, and threatened only by my own demons. I do not feel sorry for myself with this Standard.  Our world is filled with them.  Those we seek; those we avoid.  Standards we contrive on our own (hello, adolescent Caroline); and those imposed on us by society (hello, Holly