It has been a long time since I last read any self-improvement books. Those inspirational stories that fills the heart with hope, those parables that paint everything with an air of possibility.
Miss reading those and-they-live-happily-ever-after stories and the attendant sense that everything will end well, perfectly, beautifully.
The psychological texts, prompting self-examination, self-reflection, self-censure, was disturbing my mind's peace for naught. I've failed to grasp the penultimate nature of the works - to nurture oneself through reflection - and wallowed comfortably in the discomforting pessimism.
It's so easy to lose one's way, so easy for everything to tend towards disorder, entropy. So much easier to live a life of self-denial, self-pity, so much easier to be cool and aloof and not be hurt.
And it's harder, much harder to pull oneself together, to conduct oneself with dignity, decency and decorum. Life's never easy, isn't it?
Planning to read more inspirational stories and let them draw the fractious parts of me into a tuneful symphony once again. Blessed be to one and all.
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