I don’t believe in the resilience of the human heart.
I don’t because I am aware that I have a limit. Even if I cannot perceive the exact details of my limits, I am still aware that the limit exists. I know that one day I will break to the point of no recovery. I know that it is merely a matter of the limits of my ability to adapt to yet another example of being rejected by the universe. There is a limitation to my choices. There is a limitation to my existence.
You know those people who, you look at… and you just know that their life is going to work out for them? They’re the types of people that are truly excited to see what the universe has in store for them.
I am friends with many of those people. And, as my friends, I am happy that the world has worked out for them and will work out for them. But, as for me, I have never identified with those people. Because, when I see myself in context to the events of my life, I just know that the world is not going to work out for me.
I have been born with opportunities, and I am grateful for the opportunities that have been presented to me. And, for a time, I used to believe that I could use my opportunities to create a life free from suffering. But it seems that the more I age, the more I realize that I was not ordained for this purpose.
For a time, I used to believe that the countless rejections I have faced in my life have made me into a stronger person. And, in some ways, I suppose that they have. But it seems that I am at another critical point in my life where my attitudes change yet once again. My faith in resilience, as a principle, is slowly waning. Like the graph of f(x) = -x^2, I have approached the point that the slope changes from positive to negative. And now, it seems that I no longer have faith at all in the principle, and no amount of Angela Duckworth or Martin Seligman books is going to change the truth that has been revealed to me in my life.
It is quite sad, really. But I am quite used to the sadness by now. I am at the mercy of the universe, for it is the universe that dictates how much suffering I will go through for the rest of my life. It seems awfully peaceful to believe it as such, but I tend to view it similar to the Virgin Mary viewing her newborn baby; I am grateful for this realization of the hopelessness of resistance, but I am saddened by the gloomy future that the universe has dictated for me. Unlike those people who are close to me, I have not been chosen by the universe to have a happy life, and I do not know what to think of it.
One step closer, two steps back. Such is my approach towards happiness. But, it would seem that I have reached a point where I am able to see my progression backwards. It seems that I have enough data points to finally synthesize a pattern of my life. And, although I cannot definitively prove the existence a relationship, I have enough points to infer of its existence. It would only take a lifetime later for me to articulate its existence.
Sometimes, I would forget about my very own philosophies, but then I would remember. It would take a happening or two in my life, and I will realize once again that I was not ordained for happiness. I was not chosen to be one of those people that I simultaneously envy and despise (or perhaps it is the same emotion?) for their happiness. I was not chosen. It is the will of the universe that I was not chosen. This is my belief. This is my reality. This is the truth that has been revealed to me in my life.