overrated guilt

Sometimes I want to cry for no apparent reason.  Nothing is wrong.  Everything is wrong.  Even when it's really not.  It's my own version of the poor little pretty rich girl, as if money and good looks had anything to do with it.  Ironically, my gloom is derived from others not having what I have, good health, happy family, financial stability, what have you.  I've always been like this.  I remember driving through Santa Ana and feeling extremely guilty that I was driving a new car.  Even now, 20 years later, I still can't drive through parts of Costa Mesa in my BMW without wanting to jump out and offer a ride home to a mom who is at once pushing a stroller and holding her toddler's hand as she carries plastic bags of groceries  home.  Today I feel particularly sad for my nephews who are newly navigating the life of children of divorced parents.  Like vagabonds, they pack up each week to go to "mom's house" or "dad's house," as the word "home" no longer seems to fit.  They carry a new burden of guilt, wanting to be with one parent while being with the other.  Maybe it's not as bad as it looks.  But I want more for them. I want them to know that their lives are more than half this and half that.  I feel guilty that my kids have so much of those intangibles that I so desperately want for the boys.  I want them to know that they are just as worthy.  Sometimes it's just plain dumb luck.