We only work on problems we believe have a solution. Everything else — precedent, other people’s opinions, the weight of “it can’t be done” — is a story the mind tells itself to stop looking. This is what happens when it starts looking again, and what happens when it doesn’t.
There’s a gap most of us maintain without noticing, between ourselves and the universal energy running under everything. We call it being realistic. We call it caution. Passion is the one thing that actually closes it, and resignation is not the same as peace.
Let the mistake be just that — a mistake. Not an omen, not an albatross. What comes next is a question of fact, not feeling.
We got the stuff and the people, and it didn’t satisfy, didn’t soothe. Aggravated, in fact. What makes us childishly happy isn’t too hard to come by.
It’s not the magnitude of the situation that stops us. It’s whether we allow ignorance to strip us of the will to stand back up — and how we keep choosing not to look.
Our feelings are omnipresent helpers trying to save us from something far more dangerous than discomfort. The dogs are always circling. It’s the running that makes them ferocious.
