Contradiction

One finds oneself rather a bundle of contradictions—though most have the good sense to look away.

One exerts considerable effort to remain rational—consistency, naturally, being the aim.

Yet upon realising the impossibility, one plunges into self-loathing of the most thoroughly irrational kind.

Emotions—to what earthly purpose? Reason alone ought to suffice. Annoying, that. Accepting that one cannot always be rational, one begins to think about the limits that attend us all—one's own, perhaps, lying somewhat further out than most.

For a long while, one observes the emotions others display, yet genuinely feeling what they feel remains elusive. Then it occurs to one that emotions are not simple things at all, but a rather untidy mixture of everything.

Once one begins to understand how people differ in their values, in their responses to problems, in their way of processing experience—empathy, at last, becomes possible.

The same event; utterly divergent reactions.

To the outsider, they appear identical, yet the weight each man assigns to his failure, the particular darkness of his state of mind—these are entirely different things, and they lead to entirely different ends.

And so, more mindful now of what words and actions may set in motion, one grows quieter. More measured. Timid, perhaps; or merely considered. It scarcely matters.

One does not entirely like who one is at present, yet one likes oneself well enough to persist.

Daily improvements suffice. One needn't rush these things.