Everything that happens, happens by itself. But, weirdly, we think we’re doing it.
Life cannot give me what I need while I chase after what I want. What comes to me unbidden, unanticipated, is the precondition to contentment. Contentment is not an achievement. Not a result.
We do not easily (or ever!) divest ourselves of our opinions. Sometimes Life takes pity on us, slaps us upside the head and brings us face-to-face with this: “I’ve been wrong about everything.”
Life is mostly a series of little things. So what I do—cleaning myself, walking out the door, putting my shoes in the closet—is not that important. But how I do all this—that is very important.
Because the way that I do anything is the way I do everything, and the details of my biography are elucidated in the way that I eat.
No one has power to ruin my life. Am I ruined? Then I ruined myself. This is the realization that allowed Socrates to say, “You can kill me but you cannot hurt me.”