316

Amidst all the toil, all the strife, and all the struggle, there always remains solace in a heart of gratitude—for who you’ve become because of the suffering of the past, and for who you will be because of the suffering in the present.

315

Yes—there’s so much left to do.

But why are you daunted? Why do you despair at the thought of doing what you’re called to do?

Put your heart into your work, but do not be fooled into thinking the work must be completed merely because it is work; there are stories, there is meaning, and there is purpose behind it all, which makes any of it worthwhile in the first place. And we do not need to wait until the conclusion of the matter to embrace it.

314

If you can so easily extricate your mind from the expectations of others, why do you let your heart remain shackled?

You can be desperate, but not afraid. Grasp at the opportunity for love as if it was the last opportunity you would get in this life, but do not for a second fear what lies ahead.

313

Self-awareness is not the difference between freedom or oppression from our circumstances.

It only determines whether you enjoy the ride or dread it; it does not determine the ride itself.

312

In our quest for meaning, we almost never need to search for suffering simply because of the ways in which the world and our minds work.

But when complacency threatens—when we become inured to the status quo, coaxed by a false sense of comfort and order—let us then ask for chaos.

311

There is always something to say.

But it doesn’t mean you have to say it.

310

They say every snowflake is different—but the blizzard, it covers us all the same.

—Ocean Vuong, On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous

309

We speak of wasting time, as if it was a resource that was completely under our control, as if we fully understood every consequences of every event that unfolds thereafter, as if at this very moment we knew for certain what the right thing to do was.

None of this is certain; we will do our best to discern the best thing to do in each moment, but when the world around us begins to fall from our grasp, from our comprehension, just let go, observe, and learn.

308

Consider the most resilient human beings that we know—those that seem capable of weathering any storm in this life, those that remain steadfast and uphold courage where others might fear.

And consider those among us that have fallen—those among us that have fallen into depression yet never found their way out, or worse, those among us that have taken their own lives, if only to stop the torment.

In their lowest moments—moments of utmost desperation, of acute pain and suffering, of seemingly unending misery and grief—there is little that distinguishes those of the latter from those of the former. The desire to succumb, to give up and completely detach from this world, whether in depression or through suicide, and the will to become exceptionally resilient are both achieved by experiencing the same thing.

The only difference? A glimmer of hope, a fragment of lost grace—something intangible, something gifted to us that we never realized was a gift, that pushes us ever so slightly to carry on another day, to put the past behind, to find the untapped power within our souls, to search for a better truth, and a better life. And to bestow that glimmer of hope, to endow that fragment of lost grace to someone in need of it—this is at the very heart of what it means to be compassionate in this world.

It is the only difference between a life lived, and a life lost.

307

If there’s nothing more I can feasibly do for you, and nothing more you can feasibly do for me in this life, then there is no reason to latch onto our association any longer. If I tried, and if you tried, what more is there to do?

No apologies, no regret, no lamentation, no resentment, no second thoughts, and no turning back.

Ruthless? No. Because I owe my compassion, sensitivity, and energy to the things I can actually control—to the things that I am called to do in this world.