"No man lives more than a hundred years, and not one in a thousand that long. And even that one spends half his life as a helpless child or a dim-witted oldster. And of the time that remains, half is spent in sleep, or wasted during the day. And in what is left he is plagued by pain, sickness, sorrow, bitterness, deaths, losses, worry, and fear. In ten years and more there is hardly an hour in which he can feel at peace with himself and the world, without being gnawed by anxiety."
Apparently, men cannot make decisions which involve change, unless of course, their very own existence is threatened by the consistencies of a certain routine. It is at the edge of self-destruction that, with great doubt, men react in order to alter their own fate. When facing the many woes of life, men will tolerate and ignore everything. The progressive erosion caused by sentimental pains will not incite them at all, unless their very pride is at risk of hosting irrevocable damage. It is during moments of extreme pain when men evaluate atonement and self-improvement; it is during the dissipation of certainty that men look for new ways of defining themselves. Furthermore, and though this entire process could be coined as "maturing," it is truly, nothing more than an intuitive reaction which strives for the preservation of a certain norm. Men change because they need updated domestication and instruction; men change because they have no choice.
Now, if the paradigm was to change, let us imagine for a second that the subject for this analysis is replaced: instead of men, lets allow the group called "human beings" to replace this hypothetical space. Let us pretend that women and children are also now included. Let us think properly and accordingly and then, just then, let us think about how we behave. Soon you will realize that we are as intuitive as lions and as productive as slobs. Aren't we as primitive as any other species then? Isn't the difference between us and other animals now seemingly slight? Isn't disappointing that we only take matters in our hands when we are faced with the most horrible consequences? We migrate when resources are scarce and almost depleted, we look for cures when we never cared for prevention, we look for reasons when life itself seems to be far too plain, justifying the anthropic principle, justifying anything that will make us grand and unique.
The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation, said Henry Thoreau. It is our capacity for withholding distress that never ceases to amaze me. Men fail to live happily because they rely on everything but themselves. Men fail to live happily because they never understand nor comprehend the virtues of life. It is through the pursuit of altruism that the individual values the importance of love; it is through love that men identifies the qualities of such cabal and unselfish endeavor as true qualities of good. Love is perhaps, along with nature, the only tautological element available; love is the only thing which justifies itself. It is, ultimately, through love, that men devises a forking path and it is through this self-sacrifying path that men grow and mature into unique monuments of joy.
All men aspire for happiness regardless of what happiness might mean to them. All men aspire for laughter and tranquility,but unfortunately, not all men aspire for altruism. We are far too selfish and self-absorved, we are far too blind and fearful. To give in the name of love is far too dangerous because then, we are at the mercy of emotions which cannot be rationalized. We are nothing more than ambassadors to our own petty concerns, and even though we truly know about the dancing winds of nature, we selectively enhance the notions which fulfill our immediate interests -- We are too scared to invest ourselves entirely to one cause, it is too precarious and imprudent to simply feel and move with the missions of the heart.
Naturally, I would hope for change and then instigate, with impressive effectiveness, regarding the ways of love. But it is with great pain that I expose myself as a man of flaking manners. If there is something which will always remain fruitfully true is the potential in men for self-improvement. I only wish for mistakes and for windows of intellectual remodeling. But I also know that I'm far from following these conventions which I very ostentatiously describe. This is why I wish, again and again, for the aegis of innocence in the face of pain. I hope for the strength which will let me identify my deficiencies and ergo grant me with the ways towards a better self.
In the end, we should all strive to love again, as passionately as we loved the first time. To love again without remorse and without prejudice; to forget past scars and to allow for mistakes, in their most honest sense, to guide us forward. We should all hope for love to be the muse, we should all hope for love to be the condition which stimulates our pulse. But, most importantly, we should all hope and wish for the capacity to act preemptively; we should all hope for the clarity which will allow us to read the signs of a dying element, we should all become diligent in preserving that which provides and allows for a never-ending season of love. Is there ever anything at risk considering how brief our stay on this world is?
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