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I don’t mean any of this as a boast, and I don’t mean it in any negative way.
But lately, life has felt too calm — and somehow, that’s drained the meaning out of it. Strangely, I find myself craving a storm, some chaos breaking into my life. I can’t say why, and I can’t say whether wanting that is itself a kind of sickness.
What I do know is this: it’s in the cracks of life that I feel most alive.
2
The world, at its core, is fair. The unfairness we talk about is something humans invent.
In the eyes of the Creator, everything carries equal weight: poverty and wealth, health and sickness, kindness and cruelty — every pair of contradictions the human mind can dream up.
In the end, all of it reduces to one thing: a feeling, an experience.
The Creator is exceedingly fair, and built two things into the design:
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Happiness has a ceiling (unlike wealth, which has none).
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Happiness is within reach (meaning no preconditions are required to find it).
Extreme happiness rarely yields any surprising outcome, but extreme suffering can ruin a life. Most of what people chase — wealth, prestige — has no upper limit; happiness does. In a sense, if you accept that the purpose of life is to find happiness, then nothing that appears infinite will ever bring you any closer to more of it.
Happiness is so accessible you could almost call it cheap. It isn’t a substance — it’s a state of mind. What determines it is, plainly, attitude. And the truest measure of attitude is how generously and optimistically you read the people and events around you. When someone tears you down with words, one person hears it as an insult, an injustice that demands fury or even retaliation. Another hears it as a quiet arrangement of fate — a nudge toward humility, a reminder of how small they truly are.
The world is fair. So I don’t strut over what I have, and I don’t doubt or sink over what I don’t.