o, my brothers.

At some point or another, you've really got to let it all go. You realize that it doesn't matter and that essentially you're just wasting your time. Really, what does it all come down to? The time you have here is never guaranteed, although we rarely like to put that idea into some sort of effective mannerism. We don't like changing and we hate our lives so we continue to hate our lives. It gives us something to hate. Something to blame. Something to curse when we fall apart at the feet of the momentous things at which we have failed. But it is in our hands to do these things, to change our lives, to make things what we want for them to be. If we don't do that, we have nothing to blame but ourselves. This is truth. I only say what appears to not be a lie. This is truth. We want so badly to not be responsible for our unhappiness but in effect we become to reason for our unhappiness. And that falls squarely upon us. And so, we take comfort in our unhappiness knowing that we are nothing better. Is this not the truth? Oh, I think it is not. And that is as unfortunate as the rest of the lot we are given. We are our own beginning and ending. Everything in between. It's up to us; we can rise at any moment: the tragedy is that we don't.