If the seasons of life match those of nature, then in my life—it’s spring.
Creation is teasing and revealing itself to me as if for the first time.
If I am to believe in culture, this must be a delusion. Wishful thinking. Midlife crisis.
But no—it’s not.
Your thoughts aren’t just thoughts. They are the script. And if you don’t write it, you’ll spend your whole life acting out a role you never chose. No life—just survival. No freedom—just a loop.
Fitting in is all downside. There is no salvation in conformity, no point in turning yourself into a product. The same-same-game masks the God in you, and the world loses the essential, cosmic puzzle piece that is you.
You are not your body. You are not a sex object. You are a limitless spirit residing in a body. Treat it as you would anything sacred. The ability to have sex is the lowest common denominator of human achievement. It’s right after breathing. Your most valuable characteristics are those that, in combination, are unique to you. Use your body to fulfill your purpose, not to get attention.
Aging is beyond our control, but how we age is up to us. The 50s represent everything you were meant to be. It is utterly false and cruelly arbitrary to put all the play and learning into childhood, all the work into middle age, and all the regrets into old age.
What does a miserable person do when he wants to survive? And what does he do when he stops being pleasing and decides to live?
