I’m not going anywhere. The world we live in is the world we know best. We’d be philosophers if happiness didn’t creep in from time to time. Everything we do always end up becoming sand in the hourglass, the guttering candle, a rotting fruit, bubbles, any symbol for the brevity of life. You and I never seem to appreciate the ordinary until some calamity strikes. We never choose what we’d like to do, only what we do.
William Edward Hartpole Lecky said, “There are times in the lives of most of us, when we would’ve given all the world to be as we were but yesterday, though that yesterday had passed over us, unappreciated and unenjoyed.” Now why jump into the grave with a book about someone else before yours is written?
We are all scarred and burdened by the past, and this influences or persuades our character. Whether it is becoming a strong paternal figure because of a despondent predeccessor or becoming an adulterous wench because of a family friend who promised us the moon and stars, while invading our moons and stars in secret at a young age, we make our own decisions with the smarts we’ve collected. Its what we do that defines us, never what we want to do.