Who knows—maybe all of this is given to us to prepare us for something even more beautiful, right here, in this very life. Or perhaps they, up there, are watching us and laughing as we dream about that one moment when everything will finally come together. When everything will come true. When there will be no more barriers, no more cruel ironies of fate. They know the truth: “Life is what happens to us while we are busy making other plans,” as John Lennon said.
But in reality, we’ve already got it all. And we can’t do any more than that. Of course, “life doesn’t end tomorrow,” but… but… even when we are children, the best period of life is already behind us, because the older we get, the more worries we carry. “Only fools are absolutely happy.” The fools who never left childhood.
Sometimes I think about an old acquaintance of mine, for whom life became unbearable. He left this world on his own terms—maybe not willing to wait for that moment of realization, the one where you suddenly see that everything has already happened. Or maybe he did realize it, right before the decision. We’ll never know. There’s so much we’ll never know. And maybe “never” is the wrong word, too.
If we live thinking that real life hasn’t started yet, then yes—it may seem easier. We live in possibility. But how bitter the disappointment when those beliefs, the ones we quietly built our lives around, collapse at the very end. When we remember them too late.
If instead, we live knowing that what we want and dream of is just that—something we want and dream of—and that life is now, not some future revelation, then something changes. It can be hard to accept. Sometimes it feels empty, like life has none of the beauty we hoped for. Or too little of what we long for. But when we truly accept that this is life—as it is, and nothing else—it becomes easier. Not just easier, actually. You become free.
And that, I believe, is a great art: to understand the moment of life.
A. Dumas said, “Not a day without a line.” I’m certainly not Dumas. Not at all. But sometimes I feel like I have to write—as if something important depends on it. As if, without writing, something would go wrong. And the right thing wouldn’t happen.
Feelings need to be felt. That’s what they’re for.
As for thoughts—first you think, then you realize.
I personally believe that too much thinking is harmful. We do need to understand the world around us, yes. But thinking, in the way we often do it, quickly turns into overthinking. And analysis? It rarely helps. Let’s say I’ve analyzed something to death—has it ever truly made me feel better? No. Not really.
Unfortunately, most of us aren’t capable of truly seeing through people or situations and making clean, accurate assessments. I’m not one of those rare, brilliant minds either. I’m just an ordinary girl, with access to what most of us have—and that’s both very little and, strangely, quite a lot. But that “a lot” doesn’t come from analyzing. Not at all.
It seems to me that the deeper wisdom lies in listening. Really listening. To the world. To what is. Imagine a cat who’s been indoors forever and is finally let out into the grass. She crouches low, listens, sniffs, alert to the world. The difference is that the cat expects danger. But we—we can stand tall. We don’t need to be afraid. Being afraid is silly. We can’t prevent the things we were never meant to control.
But if we want to prevent what is preventable, what’s within our reach—we must listen. And hear.
Or better yet: simply feel Life.
