Harsh Reality Of Life Quotes

In life man commits himself and draws his own portrait, outside of which there is nothing. No doubt this thought may seem harsh to someone who has not made a success of his life. But on the other hand, it helps people to understand that reality alone counts, and that dreams, expectations and hopes only serve to define a man as a broken dream, aborted hopes, and futile expectations.

And what's wrong with dimming the harsh reality of life a little, anyway? In essence, being alive is a bloody long and hard walk to death. Why not make it as pleasant along the way as you can?

As delicate as flower, as tender as rose petals, choosing to be tender and kind in a harsh environment is not weakness, it's courage.

Sometimes my own darkness scares me.

First, we think all truth is beautiful, no matter how hideous its face may seem. We accept all of nature, without any repudiation. We believe there is more beauty in a harsh truth than in a pretty lie, more poetry in earthiness than in all the salons of Paris. We think pain is good because it is the most profound of all human feelings. We think sex is beautiful even when portrayed by a harlot and a pimp. We put character above ugliness, pain above prettiness and hard, crude reality above all the wealth in France. We accept life in its entirety without making moral judgments. We think the prostitute is as good as the countess, the concierge as good as the general, the peasant as good as the cabinet minister, for they all fit into the pattern of nature and are woven into the design of life!

Time is kind just not kind enough!

You see, I came into this world just like I’m assuming you did—full of excitement and promise. I wanted to do so much good work, help so many people, and give as much as I could to those who needed me. But then I learned a very harsh lesson—the world doesn’t always give back. I am not a tragic case of the world; I am the world—cruel, unfair, and not a fairy tale. People are not born heroes or villains; they’re created by the people around them. And one day when your bright-eyed and bushy-tailed view of life gets its first taste of reality, when bitterness and anger first run through your veins, you’ll discover that you are just like me—and it’ll scare you to death.

As we age we begin to grasp at youthful bliss like a life raft in a sea of harsh reality.

The reality of boy-girl life gets harsh, but in my fantasy, the music keeps them together.

Only then did I realise that for me, and many others, Israel was virtual. For Murad, Israel was 'home.' Israel was a reality; a harsh reality.

Truth is only harsh if you're unable to face it.

You religious men who boast so much that you live on charity including what the poor manage to scrape together out of their meagre income - how can you justify your actions? How can your moral conscience be clear when you acknowledge that in no way do you contribute to the society that is maintaining you, day after day? In your self complacent conceit, you denigrate and harshly condemn, those who, with their sweat and hard work, provide you with a life fit for a king. What is the reason you spend your lives living comfortably in some ashram or isolated monastery when life only makes sense if it is experienced with your fellow brothers and sisters by showing compassion to them? It is easy and simple enough to spend your lives meditating in the Himalayas being irritated by nothing and no one if not the occasional goat, rather than placing yourselves in the midst of your fellow men and living an ordinary life of toil as they do. Do not delude yourselves, because what you refer to as a state of internal peace represents nothing but the personal satisfaction of the conscious ego that is admiring and adoring itself..

There’s only so many times you can fight before the only person you fight for is yourself.

Hope doesn't announce that life is safe, therefore, we will be; instead, it whispers that Christ is our safety in the midst of harsh reality.

I had a cousin who neurotically made playlists for every waking moment of her life, and that slightly obsessive habit had rubbed off on me to the point that I couldn’t deal with the harshness of reality anymore unless I rolled it around in music first.

The harsh reality will be the fear that has always been at the back of your mind coming to play right in front of your eyes

Emotional exhibitionism is one block away from whoring for attention.

Perfection is a thousand mistakes behind curtains.

Once she had believed in dreams and fairy tales, had relied on a gossamer web woven of privilege and fantasy. Now, she believed only in the harsh reality of life, relied only on her own ingenuity.

Elimde bu denizkabuğuyla ona gideceğim. Denizkabuğunu uzatacağım. Bak, diyeceğim, sen benden daha güçlüsün; benim gibi astımın da yok. Sen görebiliyorsun, diyeceğim; iki gözün de görebiliyor. Bana bir iyilik yap da, gözlüğümü geri ver demiyorum, diyeceğim. Sen güçlüsün diye efendice davranmanı da rica etmiyorum, diyeceğim. Doğru olan doğrudur. Doğruyu yapman için sana bunu söylüyorum diyeceğim. Gözlüğümü bana ver, Gözlüğümü bana vermek zorundasın diyeceğim.

Athletics lasts for such a short period of time. It ends for people. But while it lasts, it creates this make-believe world where normal rules don’t apply. We build this false atmosphere. When it’s over and the harsh reality sets in, that’s the real joke we play on people. . . . Everybody wants to experience that superlative moment, and being an athlete can give you that. It’s Camelot for them. But there’s even life after it.

Cruelty, harshness, pain: no one shielded us from the realities of life, and that made us strong.

Dear girl, face whatever it is. You’ve been brave already. You’ve come here on your own. Only a brave soul would do that. Be brave again. Be brave until the end. You can’t go back and undo this. It’s one of the harsh realities of this life. If I could I’d go back and unsay every harsh word I’ve ever uttered. But I can’t—and you can’t change the past either. Look ahead.

I realised that I needed the dark and the light to be a whole person. Trying to be happy by neglecting the harsh reality of my emotional world didn't work. All colours and shades of reality are experienced and by allowing these, without judgement, my heart opened to me. Self-love always starts with 'holding the hurt'.

I feel completely broken due to the cruel and dark side of life. Life has been incredibly harsh, leaving me utterly shattered. I have been deeply affected and devastated by this cruel and unforgiving reality.

Jesus’ resurrection released hope, not to cheapen life in this world, but to dignify it. To believe in the resurrection is to place the full weight of my hope in the “story of Jesus.” It is to acknowledge that at the center of the harsh reality of life, there is a supernatural gap that cannot be closed by my natural means.

Dreaming is a way to escape the harsh reality of life.

Death is a harsh reality of life

Do everything that you can to resist Void Madness. Focus on the love, joy and happiness that can be found within yourself, no matter where you are. If you ponder the reality of The Void’s vast expanse for even one brief moment, it could have devastating effects on your mind, so focus instead on the present. Bring your attention to your day-today goals. How will you find food? What will you drink to survive? Where is there a safe place to hide? Focusing on the present will keep you from straying into Void Madness, and keep you productive for the harsh times ahead.

The reality of life as His disciple, as one of "the sheep of his pasture" (Psalm 100:3), is a life of complete helplessness in a harsh environment, trusting the shepherd to lead us and feed us.

there’s a private pain you must endure as people you loved, trusted, or admired turn against you in envy. It hurts to be criticized when you’re trying your best. It stings deeply when you discover the insincerity of those you thought loved you; they only loved what you could do for them. It’s a harsh reality to face that someone simply wants you to fail. You don’t know why; they don’t know why. They just can’t stand the thought of you getting what you want out of life.

I think most people live in a fiction. I’m no exception. Think of it in terms of a car’s transmission. It’s like a transmission that stands between you and the harsh realities of life. You take the raw power from outside and use gears to adjust it so everything’s all nicely in sync. That’s how you keep your fragile body intact. Does this make any sense?

I’m not sure about all the particulars that led to this moment. Do I believe life is a series of dots to be connected…or that no one can outrun destiny…or that all roads lead to truth and coincidence is a lie to distract us? The reason I was in this place no longer mattered. The harsh reality stared me in the face and demanded an immediate decision. Walk away and blame it on my age. Or stay and try to help a woman who had slowly become my friend over the last few weeks.

What is Destiny? Is it a doctrine formulated by aristocrats and philosophers arguing that there is some unseen driving force predicting the outcomes of every minuscule and life altering moment in one's life? Or is it the artistry illustrated by those under-qualifed and over-eager to give their future meaning and their ambitions hope? Is it a declaration by those who refuse to accept that we are alone in this universe, spinning randomly through a matrix of accidental coincidences? Or is it the assumptions made by those who concede that there is a divine plan or pre-ordained path for each human being,regardless of their current station? I think destiny is a bit of a tease.... It's syndical taunts and teases mock those naive enough to believe in its black jack dealing of inevitable futures. Its evolution from puppy dogs and ice cream to razor blades and broken mirrors characterizes the fickle nature of its sordid underbelly. Those relying on its decisive measures will fracture under its harsh rules. Those embracing the fact that life happens at a million miles a minute will flourish in its random grace. Destiny has afforded me the most magical memories and unbelievably tragic experiences that have molded and shaped my life into what it is today...beautiful. I fully accept the mirage that destiny promises and the reality it can produce. Without the invisible momentum carried with its sincere fabrication of coming attraction, destiny is the covenant we rely on to get ourselves through the day. To the destiny I know awaits me, I thank you in advance. Don't cry because it's over....smile because it happened.

By limiting their moral concerns to domestic and sexual behavior, many members of the middle class were able to ignore the harsh realities of life for the lower classes or even to blame working people’s problems on their not being sufficiently committed to domesticity and female purity. Yet the establishment of a male breadwinner/female homemaker family in the middle and upper classes often required large sections of the lower class to be unable to do so.

No need for grudges or resentment. I wanted this, I wanted a new life. I was tired of everything, tired of me. It was due time to unknot the major ties that held me to this misery. Recreate myself, learn to deal with the harsh and unforgiving realities. It has taken me quite some time to come to terms with this new mentality. For the last few months I have been stuck in a moral quarrel with myself, eventually my integrity surrendered to the modesty of not giving a fuck.

Myth becomes a kind of experimental hypothesis through which the individual or the community formulates an explanation of life, so replacing the fixed systems and creeds of earlier generations. Inevitably, each hypothesis or world-view proves inadequate when subjected to harsh reality, and collapses. 'None of our theories,' comments the narrator in Felix Holt laconically, 'are quite large enough for all the disclosures of time.' But this is the education of the human race out of which new myths or patterns of meaning emerge.

[...] all women want to be objectified.

Humor is a tool to ease the harsh realities of life.

All doors have closed, poverty is so harsh.

But morning casts a harsh light over things, and the stark reality is that some things are easier to walk away from than to lose forever. But that doesn’t mean that this doesn’t hurt.

Realism is wisdom to use power true to life. Self-doubt will only hold you back from pursuing your dreams, and the harsh realities of life will only humble your self-importance.” ~Tunde Salami

How could we even be prepared to face such a harsh reality as ourselves when we see nothing in a mirror but the reflection of our disguised faces staring back at us with the many cruel intentions behind it? And perhaps it is this that is hell in itself. It just seems less demanding to submit ourselves to the oblivious demise we have crafted then to witness the ruin of our very soul.

Well, this is extremely interesting,’ said the Episcopal Ghost. ‘It’s a point of view. Certainly, it’s a point of view. In the meantime…’ ‘There is no meantime,’ replied the other. ‘All that is over. We are not playing now. I have been talking of the past (your past and mine) only in order that you may turn from it forever. One wrench and the tooth will be out. You can begin as if nothing had ever gone wrong. White as snow. It’s all true, you know. He is in me, for you, with that power. And—I have come a long journey to meet you. You have seen Hell: you are in sight of Heaven. Will you, even now, repent and believe?’ ‘I’m not sure that I’ve got the exact point you are trying to make,’ said the Ghost. ‘I am not trying to make any point,’ said the Spirit. ‘I am telling you to repent and believe.’ ‘But my dear boy, I believe already. We may not be perfectly agreed, but you have completely misjudged me if you do not realise that my religion is a very real and a very precious thing to me.’ ‘Very well,’ said the other, as if changing his plan. ‘Will you believe in me?’ ‘In what sense?’ ‘Will you come with me to the mountains? It will hurt at first, until your feet are hardened. Reality is harsh to the feet of shadows. But will you come?’ ‘Well, that is a plan. I am perfectly ready to consider it. Of course I should require some assurances…I should want a guarantee that you are taking me to a place where I shall find a wider sphere of usefulness—and scope for the talents that God has given me—and an atmosphere of free inquiry—in short, all that one means by civilisation and—er—the spiritual life.’ ‘No,’ said the other. ‘I can promise you none of these things. No sphere of usefulness: you are not needed there at all. No scope for your talents: only forgiveness for having perverted them. No atmosphere of inquiry, for I will bring you to the land not of questions but of answers, and you shall see the face of God.

Truth and Wisdom are always attractive and beautiful even when they are not attractive and beautiful, or mankind would not be seeking them so much despite the harsh reality they portrayed at times.

As the treatment progressed, I began to get a picture of myself, of the temperament that had caused me so much trouble. I had been hypersensitive, shy, idealistic. My inability to accept the harsh realities of life had resulted in a disillusioned cynic, clothed in a protective armor against the world’s misunderstanding. That armor had turned into prison walls, locking me in loneliness—and fear. All I had left was an iron determination to live my own life in spite of the alien world—and here I was, an inwardly frightened, outwardly defiant woman, who desperately needed a prop to keep going.

But it turned out life was more like the kind of song the Stones wrote: you didn't get any satisfaction, you took one hit to the body after another, if you were a woman you were a bitch who belonged under someone's thumb, and if you wanted mother's little helper from your dear doctor you better have the silver, take it or leave it, and don't come crying for sympathy, that was just for the devil.

I've tried talking to God, I really have tried, but what sort of God makes a priest this sick? She's never done anything but good for other people, so what sort of God gives an illness like this to her?!

Humans are pitful creatues; they wanted to gain freedom from this illusionary world. So, they pray to God as in next birth, they will be able to serve in heaven, which is a place free from Voilence,lust and greed.

In this very moment together, to them, words weren’t needed. To them, the experience in connection with each other was nothing less than indescribable. And to them, the derealization of the world separated that which was good and that which was grim—and, given the harsh reality of their current society, outside their intertwined, imagined worlds together would always offer a joyless void that welcomed those who couldn’t escape from it.

Let’s think about the fake sense of urgency that pervades the left-liberal humanitarian discourse on violence: in it, abstraction and graphic (pseudo)concreteness coexist in the staging of the scene of violence-against women, blacks, the homeless, gays . . . “A woman is rpaed every six seconds in this country” and “In the time it takes you to read this paragraph, ten children will die of hunger” are just two examples. Underlying all this is a hypocritical sentiment of moral outrage. Just this kind of pseudo-urgency was exploited by Starbucks a couple of years ago when, at store entrances, posters greeting costumers pointed out that a portion of the chain’s profits went into health-care for the children of Guatemala, the source of their coffee, the inference being that with every cup you drink, you save a child’s life. There is a fundamental anti-theoretical edge to these urgent injunctions. There is no time to reflect: we have to act now. Through this fake sense of urgency, the post-industrial rich, living in their secluded virtual world, not only do not deny or ignore the harsh reality outside the area-they actively refer to it all the time. As Bill Gates recently put it: “What do the computers matter when millions are still unnecessarily dying of dysentery?” Against this fake urgency, we might want to place Marx’s wonderful letter to Engels of 1870, when, for a brief moment, it seemed that a European revolution was again at the gates. Marx’s letter conveys his sheer panic: can’t the revolution wait for a couple of years? He hasn’t yet finished his ‘Capital’.

In the afterglow of the Big Bang, humans spread in waves across the universe, sprawling and brawling and breeding and dying and evolving. There were wars, there was love, there was life and death. Minds flowed together in great rivers of consciousness, or shattered in sparkling droplets. There was immortality to be had, of a sort, a continuity of identity through replication and confluence across billions upon billions of years. Everywhere they found life. Nowhere did they find mind—save what they brought with them or created—no other against which human advancement could be tested. With time, the stars died like candles. But humans fed on bloated gravitational fat, and achieved a power undreamed of in earlier ages. They learned of other universes from which theirs had evolved. Those earlier, simpler realities too were empty of mind, a branching tree of emptiness reaching deep into the hyperpast. It is impossible to understand what minds of that age—the peak of humankind, a species hundreds of billions of times older than humankind—were like. They did not seek to acquire, not to breed, not even to learn. They had nothing in common with us, their ancestors of the afterglow. Nothing but the will to survive. And even that was to be denied them by time. The universe aged: indifferent, harsh, hostile, and ultimately lethal. There was despair and loneliness. There was an age of war, an obliteration of trillion-year memories, a bonfire of identity. There was an age of suicide, as the finest of humanity chose self-destruction against further purposeless time and struggle. The great rivers of mind guttered and dried. But some persisted: just a tributary, the stubborn, still unwilling to yield to the darkness, to accept the increasing confines of a universe growing inexorably old. And, at last, they realized that this was wrong. It wasn't supposed to have been like this. Burning the last of the universe's resources, the final down-streamers—dogged, all but insane—reached to the deepest past. And—oh. Watch the Moon, Malenfant. Watch the Moon. It's starting—

It sometime is so amazing to know, how the most ordinary day turns so extraordinary, in a flash of second. And depending on harshness of a sudden jolt of reality, sometime one has no option but to still be hopeful, listen to the heartbeat, still dream grand, still dream impossible; and keep one's inner self illuminated forever. After all, dream only turns into reality, if one is genuinely passionate and truthful to it. What a waste of life it would be otherwise.

That a delicacy for the pampered was acquired through brutality was hardly news. By any civilised standard, it was how luxury ought to be measured—wealth meant nothing if it didn’t create suffering. Because the standard liberal whine that the rich were cushioned from life’s harsh realities was laughable ignorance: the rich created those realities, and made sure they kept on happening. That was what kitchens were for, along with prisons, factories and public transport.

... I used to have a big dog, a rottweiler, to guard the place. One night I was working late, and he was outside barking in the snow. He wouldn't stop. Then he stopped. I went out ten minutes later with a lamp, and there was a ring of wolves eating my dog.

We've seen this world, and we know the people who live in it. Sometimes it scares me to death, thinking about what's out there: cruelty, callousness, utter disregard and disrespect for fellow human beings. And it's not getting better, Cory; it's getting worse.

Be a hyperrealist. Understanding, accepting, and working with reality is both practical and beautiful. I have become so much of a hyperrealist that I’ve learned to appreciate the beauty of all realities, even harsh ones, and have come to despise impractical idealism.

Exposure to the harsh realities and fierce beauties of a world not aimed at my comfort has a way of cutting through the self-absorption of my life. The uncontrolled mystery of nature puts the ego in check and invites the soul back (in more than one way) to the ground of its being. It elicits the soul’s deepest desire, enforces a rigorous discipline, and demands a life marked by activism and resistance. It reminds me, in short, that spiritual practice—far from being anything ethereal—is a highly tactile, embodied, and visceral affair.

Do everything that you can to resist Void Madness. Focus on the love, joy and happiness that can be found within yourself, no matter where you are. If you ponder the reality of The Void’s vast expanse for even one brief moment, it could have devastating effects on your mind, so focus instead on the present. Bring your attention to your day-today goals. How will you find food? What will you drink to survive? Where is there a safe place to hide? Focusing on the present will keep you from straying into Void Madness, and keep you productive for the harsh times ahead.

Do everything that you can to resist Void Madness. Focus on the love, joy and happiness that can be found within yourself, no matter where you are. If you ponder the reality of The Void’s vast expanse for even one brief moment, it could have devastating effects on your mind, so focus instead on the present. Bring your attention to your day-to-day goals. How will you find food? What will you drink to survive? Where is there a safe place to hide? Focusing on the present will keep you from straying into Void Madness, and keep you productive for the harsh times ahead.

The term - 'Fairy-Tales' is so ironical in itself, when I sometimes sit to write love stories with a happy ending, it usually drags me into a dilemma whether, I should even begin with a love story at first place or not? Because honestly, I haven't seen many of them reaching climax, most of them just die out in the mid. Then comes the concept of fairy tales or what we say 'fiction', where nothing is impossible! But over time, if I've realized something, it is that there's no such term called fiction when it comes to reality! Its harsh, in-your-face-sarcastic, ironical and highly irrational. You can't expect what's coming up next, and how it's going to blow you. In the real life, the entire meaning of fiction ceases to exist. Conclusively, we writers, deal with harsh reality and write lively fictions, this job in itself is so ironical but, that's life...

…wilderness backpacking can be a form of spiritual practice…Exposure to the harsh realities and fierce beauties of a world not aimed at my comfort has a way of cutting through the self-absorption of my life. The uncontrolled mystery of nature puts the ego in check and invites the soul back (in more than one way) to the ground of its being. It elicits the soul’s deepest desire, enforces a rigorous discipline, and demands a life marked by activism and resistance. It reminds me, in short, that spiritual practice – far from being anything ethereal – is a highly tactile, embodied, and visceral affair. (p 4)

Decades later, Buechner came to the following realization: “The trouble with steeling yourself against the harshness of reality is that the same steel that secures your life against being destroyed secures your life also against being opened up and transformed by the holy power that life itself comes from.

I will reluctantly teach you enough trivia for a passing mark on the Ministry-mandated portions of your first-year finals. Since your exact mark on these sections will make no difference to your future life, anyone who wants more than a passing mark is welcome to waste their own time studying our pathetic excuse for a textbook. The title of this subject is not Defence Against Minor Pests. You are here to learn how to defend yourselves against the Dark Arts. Which means, let us be very clear on this, defending yourselves against Dark Wizards. People with wands who want to hurt you and who will likely succeed in doing so unless you hurt them first! There is no defence without offence! There is no defence without fighting! This reality is deemed too harsh for eleven-year-olds by the fat, overpaid, Auror-guarded politicians who mandated your curriculum. To the abyss with those fools! You are here for the subject that has been taught at Hogwarts for eight hundred years! Welcome to your first year of Battle Magic!

As happens in dreams, when a perfectly harmless object inspires us with fear and thereafter is frightening every time we dream of it (and even in real life retains disquieting overtones), so Dreyer's presence became for Franz a refined torture, an implacable menace. [ ... H]e could not help cringing when, with a banging of doors in a dramatic draft, Martha and Dreyer entered simultaneously from two different rooms as if on a too harshly lit stage. Then he snapped to attention and in this attitude felt himself ascending through the ceiling, through the roof, into the black-brown sky, while, in reality, drained and empty, he was shaking hands with Martha, with Dreyer. He dropped back on his feet out of that dark nonexistence, from those unknown and rather silly heights, to land firmly in the middle of the room (safe, safe!) when hearty Dreyer described a circle with his index finger and jabbed him in the navel; Franz mimicked a gasp and giggled; and as usual Martha was coldly radiant. His fear did not pass but only subsided temporarily: one incautious glance, one eloquent smile, and all would be revealed, and a disaster beyond imagination would shatter his career. Thereafter whenever he entered this house, he imagined that the disaster had happened—that Martha had been found out, or had confessed everything in a fit of insanity or religious self-immolation to her husband; and the drawing room chandelier invariably met him with a sinister refulgence.

Ah, I believe Schacht. Only too willingly; that’s to say, I think what he says is absolutely true, for the world is incomprehensibly crass, tyrannical, moody, and cruel to sickly and sensitive people. Well, Schacht will stay here for the time being. We laughed at him a bit, when he arrived, that can’t be helped either, Schacht is young and after all can’t be allowed to think there are special degrees, advantages, methods, and considerations for him. He has now had his first disappointment, and I’m convinced that he’ll have twenty disappointments, one after the other. Life with its savage laws is in any case for certain people a succession of discouragements and terrifying bad impressions. People like Schacht are born to feel and suffer a continuous sense of aversion. He would like to admit and welcome things, but he just can’t. Hardness and lack of compassion strike him with tenfold force, he just feels them more acutely. Poor Schacht. He’s a child and he should be able to revel in melodies and bed himself in kind, soft, carefree things. For him there should be secret splashings and birdsong. Pale and delicate evening clouds should waft him away in the kingdom of Ah, What’s Happening to Me? His hands are made for light gestures, not for work. Before him breezes should blow, and behind him sweet, friendly voices should be whispering. His eyes should be allowed to remain blissfully closed, and Schacht should be allowed to go quietly to sleep again, after being wakened in the morning in the warm, sensuous cushions. For him there is, at root, no proper activity, for every activity is for him, the way he is, improper, unnatural, and unsuitable. Compared with Schacht I’m the trueblue rawboned laborer. Ah, he’ll be crushed, and one day he’ll die in a hospital. or he’ll perish, ruined in body and soul, inside one of our modern prisons.

Embedded somewhere deeply in our Christian consciousness is the sense that bad things shouldn’t happen to good people. But in Romans 8, Paul taught exactly the opposite: he clearly stated that hardship, famine, persecution, and danger will most certainly prey upon believers. Yet Paul’s comfort to us in light of that harsh reality is the life-giving reality that nothing can separate us from the love of Christ.

In life there are times Times when you want to run Times when you want to hide Times when you wish to disappear Unfortunately the reality is different Life is not a fairytale Whatever happens you need to face everything and move on Even if it breaks you Because the reality of life is harsh You need to be really strong to get up and move on Ten years from now you will look back and think This was all worth it!

Look around you. These buildings, cars, trees, people - everything is made up of ice, even human emotions, and feelings. You know one day when the sun will rise high, all this is going to melt. But then you make sure not to drown in this town. You must gather your things and go in search of another town. To another ice town. But remember, wherever you go, it will always be an ice town. And the thing about ice is its meant to melt.

Chopin étude. At first, she rushed, hit the wrong keys, could not get the rhythm right, but she continued, and as the music unwound like a silken rope from a magic skein, she entered that kingdom that art created, between reality and the possibility of other realities, between harsh life and shining beauty, between death and the possibility of eternity, that radiant realm that nourished her soul and made her understand why she lived.

Its just a part of life , just a chapter , just a phase ; it is to be over and it will but i has taught the harsh realities of life. In the end , your support lies in yourself. No one comes to rescue you , you have to gird up your loin against all the odds and you are to raise by your own. You cant make people happy. You will die trying to come up to their marks and you ll end up losing your own identity. Losing your self to any other is like deing uselessly.

however, for existentialists there is no love other than the deeds of love; no potential for love other than that which is manifested in loving. There is no genius other than that which is expressed in works of art; the genius of Proust resides in the totality of his works; the genius of Racine is found in the series of his tragedies, outside of which there is nothing. Why should we attribute to Racine the ability to write yet another tragedy when that is precisely what he did not do? In life, a man commits himself and draws his own portrait, outside of which there is nothing. No doubt this thought may seem harsh to someone who has not made a success of his life. But on the other hand, it helps people to understand that reality alone counts, and that dreams, expectations, and hopes only serve to define a man as a broken dream, aborted hopes, and futile expectations; in other words, they define him negatively, not positively.

A man is involved in life, leaves his impress on it, and outside of that there is nothing. To be sure, this may seem a harsh thought to someone whose life hasn't been a success. But, on the other hand, it prompts people to understand that reality alone is what counts, that dreams, expectations, and hopes warrant no more than to define a man as a disappointed dream, as miscarried hopes, as vain expectations. In other words, to define him negatively and not positively.

Perhaps I can follow a heroic existential nihilist’s sterling example of surviving the harshness of reality by employing an attentive narrative examination of my recalcitrant life to extract shards of personal truth and elicit a synthesizing purposefulness of my being from the darkness, anarchy, and chaos of existence. Perhaps through the act of engaging in a deliberative examination of the ontological mystery of being and investigating the accompanying stark brutal doubt that renders a materialistic life intolerably senseless, absurd, and meaningless, I can confront the baffle of being and establish a guiding set of personal values to live by in an indifferent world. Perhaps by using the contemplative tools of narrative storytelling, I can strictly scrutinize the key leaning rubrics veiled within an array of confusing personal life experiences. Perhaps by engaging in a creative act of discovery I can blunt the pain and anguish that comes from the nightmarish experience of suffering from an existential crisis.

a. View painful problems as potential improvements that are screaming at you. Though it won’t feel that way at first, each and every problem you encounter is an opportunity; for that reason, it is essential that you bring them to the surface. Most people don’t like to do this, especially if it exposes their own weaknesses or the weaknesses of someone they care about, but successful people know they have to. b. Don’t avoid confronting problems because they are rooted in harsh realities that are unpleasant to look at. Thinking about problems that are difficult to solve may make you anxious, but not thinking about them (and hence not dealing with them) should make you more anxious still. When a problem stems from your own lack of talent or skill, most people feel shame. Get over it. I cannot emphasize this enough: Acknowledging your weaknesses is not the same as surrendering to them. It’s the first step toward overcoming them. The pains you are feeling are “growing pains” that will test your character and reward you as you push through them.

Studying the history of our ancestors is instructive. I understand some of my parents’ struggles and sacrifices. I am acquainted with my grandparents and great grandparents’ way of life. The common denominator that runs through their lifeblood is a hardpan of resiliency, courage, and work ethic. They also shared a phenomenal degree of competency essential to make due in an open land where the pioneering spirit meets nature under a big sky full of endless possibilities for triumph and setback. My forebears took care of their family members and tended their ancestral land before the word caretaker was a recognized term for a loving man, woman, or child. Self-reliant people who master the skills essential for survival in a harsh clime also value helping other people who are in a fix. All my predecessors were quick to lend a hand to a neighbor in need. Their ability to see life through the heart was the decisive feature of their pioneering pluck. How we start a day, presages how the day shall unfold. Each day when I awaken, I feel clobbered by the preceding day. At days end, I feel comparable to a chewed on piece of masticated beef. I devote all available personal energy reserves to simply getting by and muss over how I can engender the energy to make it through today’s pulp works. In reality, I go on because akin to every generation that preceded me and every generation that succeeds me, I must continue onward or I will expire. The one fact that keeps me going is the realization that all generations of people struggle. What we share with preceding generations is our heartaches and our willingness to struggle in order to make the world a better place for the next generation.

The art of taking feedback is such a crucial skill in life, particularly harsh and critical feedback. We not only need to take this harsh feedback, but actively solicit it, labor to seek out the negative precisely when our friends and family and brain are telling us that we’re doing great. The ego avoids such feedback at all costs, however. Who wants to remand themselves to remedial training? It thinks it already knows how and who we are—that is, it thinks we are spectacular, perfect, genius, truly innovative. It dislikes reality and prefers its own assessment.

Does the spiritual worldview hinder functioning or enhance it? Does it provide resources that make our few days on this planet more meaningful? Freud argues that because it is not true, it can’t work. Basing one’s life on an illusion, on a false premise, will make living more difficult. Only the truth can help us confront the harsh realities of life. Lewis, however, argues that the most important reality concerns our relationship with the Person who made us. Until that relationship is established, no accomplishment, no fame or fortune will ever satisfy us. Who is right?

What do you see?” my professor asked as he projected a picture of a small black dot in the middle of a very big white screen. I was sitting in Psychology 101 during my years at Sydney University. We all responded immediately: “A black dot.” I was excited, thinking, If all of the questions are as easy as this one, this course is going to be easy! The prof looked out over the class and paused for several seconds before he asked again, “What do you see?” Thinking he must not have heard us properly the first time, we repeated even more loudly: “A black dot!” Again he paused . . . and then asked the same question a third time. Now he had my attention. And when still, on the third try, none of us provided the correct answer, he explained — and gave me a lesson I will never forget. “You were all so focused on the little black dot in the center of the screen that none of you noticed the dominant image on the screen: the large white space covering the screen top to bottom, left to right.” I couldn’t believe I had missed it. Suddenly it was obvious. There was far more white space than black dot. Whatever I chose to focus on had my attention. There is always much more white space than there is space covered by little black dots — we simply need to recognize and focus on it. In class, that idea seemed like an easy notion — easier than it has proven to be in life. Because the harsh reality is that the black dots of our lives — the trials, challenges, disappointments, obstacles, and hurdles we face as we run — will naturally draw and consume our attention. Our enemy would love to get us to focus on those black dots and convince us they define and shape our lives and determine our destiny. But in the divine relay, we are to fix our eyes on Jesus. He is the “white space” of God’s power at work in the universe, and the trials we face are but a tiny speck, a black dot, in comparison. As we learn to focus on the vastness of God’s eternal, amazing work on this planet, those black dots will cease to blemish our lives.

From all that urges and admonishes, the romantic turns away. He wants to dream, enjoy, immerse himself, instead of clearing his way by striving and wrestling. That which has been and rises out of what is past occupies him far more than what is to become and also more than what wants to become; for the word of the future would always be command. Experiences with their many echoes and their billows stand higher in his estimation than life with its tasks; for tasks always establish a bond with harsh reality. And from this he is in flight. He does not want to struggles against fate, but rather to receive it with an ardent and devout soul; he does not want to wrestle for the blessing, but to experience it, abandoning himself, devoid of will, to what spells salvation and bliss.

In the blackness of the midnight sleep world, immunized from the harsh glare of daytime reality, the active imagination of the soul dances in the mind of a dream weaver. Safely shrouded in the all-encompassing blanket of darkness supplied by nighttime sleep, our secret wishes speak to us by channeling the collective mythology of the primordial mind. During the wee hours of night, right before first light, we summon our personal muse to tell us in operatic fashion what it means to be human. If we listen carefully, our muse’s heart songs shares with us what it means to experience both the tragedy and comedy of life, and encourages us to unreservedly embrace in a moral manner the banality, brutality, beauty, and splendor of nature that occurs eternally in the cosmic world that swaddles us.

The other approach, probably more widely appealing in contemporary Western culture, is so to fix on the painful circumstances of life that one gives up on faith. The harsh realities of life show that Christian (or other) faith in God is no longer tenable. It might have been once, when one was a child, perhaps in Sunday school. But when one grows up and acquires scientific understanding of how the world works, together with an awareness of increasingly uncertain general prospects—global warming, continuing wars, terrorism, famines, growing disparities between rich and poor, transience of romantic relationships, familial instabilities, social anomie, disillusionment with grand claims about the world, or just existential moments of “Why?” when confronted by needless and innocent suffering—then it becomes clear that “Our God reigns” is empty language that trivializes the realities of the world.

It was the voicing of a vain wish, when you got down to it, to escape. To slip, like The Escapist, free of the entangling chain of reality and the straitjacket of physical laws. Harry Houdini had roamed the Palladiums and Hippodromes of the world encumbered by an entire cargo-hold of crates and boxes, stuffed with chains, iron hardware, brightly colored flats and hokum, animated all the while only by this same desire, never fulfilled: truly to escape, if only for one instant; to poke his head through the borders of this world, with its harsh physics, into the mysterious spirit world that lay beyond. The newspaper articles Joe had read about the upcoming Senate investigation into comic books always cited "escapism" among the litany of injurious consequences of their reading, and dwelled on the pernicious effect, on young minds, of satisfying the desire to escape. As if there could be any more noble or necessary service in life.

That pain of wanting, the burning desire to possess what you lack, is one of the greatest allies you have. It is a force you can harness to create whatever you want in your life. When you took an honest look at your life back in the previous chapter and rated yourself as being either on the up curve or the down curve in seven different areas, you were painting a picture of where you are now. This diagram shows that as point A. Where you could be tomorrow, your vision of what’s possible for you in your life, is point B. And to the extent that there is a “wanting” gap between points A and B, there is a natural tension between those two poles. It’s like holding a magnet near a piece of iron: you can feel the pull of that magnet tugging at the iron. Wanting is exactly like that; it’s magnetic. You can palpably feel your dreams (B) tugging at your present circumstances (A). Tension is uncomfortable. That’s why it sometimes makes people uncomfortable to hear about how things could be. One of the reasons Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.’s famous “I have a dream” speech made such a huge impact on the world and carved such a vivid place in our cultural memory is that it made the world of August 1963 very uncomfortable. John Lennon painted his vision of a more harmonious world in the song Imagine. Within the decade, he was shot to death. Gandhi, Jesus, Socrates … our world can be harsh on people who talk about an improved reality. Visions and visionaries make people uncomfortable. These are especially dramatic examples, of course, but the same principle applies to the personal dreams and goals of people we’ve never heard of. The same principle applies to everyone, including you and me. Let’s say you have a brother, or sister, or old friend with whom you had a falling out years ago. You wish you had a better relationship, that you talked more often, that you shared more personal experiences and conversations together. Between where you are today and where you can imagine being, there is a gap. Can you feel it?

Weren’t you alarmed by all the racist talk? Hitler’s rants about the “Jewish virus” and “the noble German” . . . You can’t read more than four sentences by the man without knowing he was a racist fanatic, Ania’s daughter will press. I didn’t notice is all Ania can say. And it is true, as outlandish as it sounds. She has never been taught that drawing distinctions between races is dangerous. In Germany, there is no great history of equal rights. For thousands of years, the population was divided into an impoverished and disenfranchised peasant class and wealthy, ruling aristocrats. The only teaching that gives her pause is the Christian precept of kindness and tolerance. But the churches themselves are not making much fuss about Hitler’s harsh rhetoric. Christianity is superstition, Hitler says—a palliative against life’s brutal realities. This is before the war. Before the Jewish star badges, before the roundups and mass deportations and extermination camps. And, really, Ania is busy with her own life.

What we think of as acts of cruelty are in reality nothing of the kind. Someone from the Middle Ages would still find the whole style of our present-day life abhorrent, but cruel, horrifying and barbaric in a quite different way. Every age, every culture, every ethos and tradition has a style of its own, has the varieties of gentleness and harshness, of beauty and cruelty that are appropriate to it. Each age will take certain kinds of suffering for granted, will patiently accept certain wrongs. Human life becomes a real hell of suffering only when two ages, two cultures and religions overlap. Required to live in the Middle Ages, someone from the Graeco-Roman period would have died a wretched death by suffocation, just as a savage inevitably would in the midst our civilisation. Now, there are times when a whole generation gets caught to such an extent between two eras, two styles of life, that nothing comes naturally to it since it has lost all sense of morality, security and innocence. A man of Nietzsche's mettle had to endure our present misery more than a generation in advance. Today, thousands are enduring what he had to suffer alone and without being understood.

The shaping of a golem, to him, was a gesture of hope, offered against hope, in a time of desperation. It was the expression of a yearning that a few magic words and an artful hand might produce something—one poor, dumb, powerful thing—exempt from the crushing strictures, from the ills, cruelties, and inevitable failures of the greater Creation. It was the voicing of a vain wish, when you got down to it, to escape. To slip, like the Escapist, free of the entangling chain of reality and the straitjacket of physical laws. Harry Houdini had roamed the Palladiums and Hippodromes of the world encumbered by an entire cargo-hold of crates and boxes, stuffed with chains, iron hardware, brightly painted flats and hokum, animated all the while only by this same desire, never fulfilled: truly to escape, if only for one instant; to poke his head through the borders of this world, with its harsh physics, into the mysterious spirit world that lay beyond. The newspaper articles that Joe had read about the upcoming Senate investigation into comic books always cited “escapism” among the litany of injurious consequences of their reading, and dwelled on the pernicious effect, on young minds, of the desire to escape. As if there could be any more noble or necessary service in life.

Everything in Nature ran according to its own nature; the running of grass was in its growing, the running of rivers their flowing, granite bubbled up, cooled, compressed and crumbled, birds lived, flew, sang and died, everything did what it needed to do, each simultaneously running its own race, each by living according to its own nature together, never leaving any other part of the universe behind. The world’s Holy things raced constantly together, not to win anything over the next, but to keep the entire surging diverse motion of the living world from grinding to a halt, which is why there is no end to that race; no finish line. That would be oblivion to all. For the Indigenous Souls of all people who can still remember how to be real cultures, life is a race to be elegantly run, not a race to be competitively won. It cannot be won; it is the gift of the world’s diverse beautiful motion that must be maintained. Because human life has been give the gift of our elegant motion, whether we limp, roll, crawl, stroll, or fly, it is an obligation to engender that elegance of motion in our daily lives in service of maintaining life by moving and living as beautifully as we can. All else has, to me, the familiar taste of that domineering warlike harshness that daily tries to cover its tracks in order to camouflage the deep ruts of some old, sick, grinding, ungainly need to flee away from the elegance of our original Indigenous human souls. Our attempt to avariciously conquer or win a place where there are no problems, whether it be Heaven or a “New Democracy,” never mind if it is spiritually ugly and immorally “won” and taken from someone who is already there, has made a citifying world of people who, unconscious of it, have become our own ogreish problem to ourselves, our future, and the world. This is a problem that we cannot continue to attempt to competitively outrun by more and more effectively designed technological approaches to speed away from the past, for the specter of our own earth-wasting reality runs grinning competitively right alongside us. By developing even more effective and entertaining methods of escape that only burn up the earth, the air, animals, plants, and the deeper substance of what it should mean to be human, by competing to get ahead, we have created a brakeless competition that has outrun our innate beauty and marked out a very definite and imminent “finish” line. Living in and on a sphere, we cannot really outrun ourselves anyway. Therefore, I say, the entire devastating and hideous state of the world and its constant wounding and wrecking of the wild, beautiful, natural, viable and small, only to keep alive an untenable cultural proceedance is truly a spiritual sickness, one that will not be cured by the efficient use of the same thinking that maintains the sickness. Nor can this overly expensive, highly funded illness be symptomatically kept at bay any longer by yet more political, environmental, or social programs. We must as individuals and communities take the time necessary to learn how to indigenously remember what a sane, original existence for a viable people might look like. Though there are marvellous things and amazing people doing them, both seen and unseen, these do not resemble in any way the general trend of what is going on now. To begin remembering our Indigenous belonging on the Earth back to life we must metabolize as individuals the grief of recognition of our lost directions, digest it into a valuable spiritual compost that allows us to learn to stay put without outrunning our strange past, and get small, unarmed, brave, and beautiful. By trying to feed the Holy in Nature the fruit of beauty from the tree of memory of our Indigenous Souls, grown in the composted failures of our past need to conquer, watered by the tears of cultural grief, we might become ancestors worth descending from and possibly grow a place of hope for a time beyond our own.

When I was younger, I remember taking pride in people’s well-meaning remarks: “You’re so lucky that no one would ever know!” or “You don’t even look like a guy!” or “Wow! You’re prettier than most ‘natural’ women!” They were all backhanded compliments, acknowledging my beauty while also invalidating my identity as a woman. To this day, I’m told in subtle and obvious ways that I am not “real,” meaning that I am not, nor will I ever be, a cis woman; therefore, I am fake. These thoughts surrounding identity, gender, bodies, and how we view, judge, and objectify all women brings me to the subject of “passing,” a term based on an assumption that trans people are passing as something that we are not. It’s rooted in the idea that we are not really who we say we are, that we are holding a secret, that we are living false lives. Examples of people “passing” in media, whether through race (Imitation of Life and Nella Larsen’s novel Passing), class (Catch Me if You Can and the reality show Joe Millionaire), or gender (Boys Don’t Cry and The Crying Game), are often portrayed as leading a life of tragic duplicity and as deceivers who will be punished harshly by society when their true identity is uncovered. This is no different for trans people who “pass” as their gender or, more accurately, are assumed to be cis or blend in as cis, as if that is the standard or norm. This pervasive thinking frames trans people as illegitimate and unnatural. If a trans woman who knows herself and operates in the world as a woman is seen, perceived, treated, and viewed as a woman, isn’t she just being herself? She isn’t passing ; she is merely being.

The unhappy priest was breathing hard; sincere horror at the foreseen dispersal of Church property was linked with regret at his having lost control of himself again, with fear of offending the Prince, whom he genuinely liked and whose blustering rages as well as disinterested kindness he knew well. So he sat down warily, glancing every now and again at Don Fabrizio, who had taken up a little brush and was cleaning the knobs of a telescope, apparently absorbed. A little later he got up and cleaned his hands thoroughly with a rag; his face was quite expressionless, his light eyes seemed intent only on finding any remaining stain of oil in the cuticles of his nails. Down below, around the villa, all was luminous and grandiose silence, emphasised rather than disturbed by the distant barking of Bendicò baiting the gardener’s dog at the far end of the lemon-grove, and by the dull rhythmic beat from the kitchen of a cook’s knife chopping meat for the approaching meal. The sun had absorbed the turbulence of men as well as the harshness of earth. The Prince moved towards the priest’s table, sat down and began drawing pointed little Bourbon lilies with a carefully sharpened pencil which the Jesuit had left behind in his anger. He looked serious but so serene that Father Pirrone no longer felt on tenterhooks. “We’re not blind, my dear Father, we’re just human beings. We live in a changing reality to which we try to adapt ourselves like seaweed bending under the pressure of water. Holy Church has been granted an explicit promise of immortality; we, as a social class, have not. Any palliative which may give us another hundred years of life is like eternity to us. We may worry about our children and perhaps our grandchildren; but beyond what we can hope to stroke with these hands of ours we have no obligations. I cannot worry myself about what will happen to any possible descendants in the year 1960. The Church, yes, She must worry for She is destined not to die. Solace is implicit in Her desperation. Don’t you think that if now or in the future She could save herself by sacrificing us She wouldn’t do so? Of course She would, and rightly.

Reflective nostalgics miss the past and dream about the past. Some of them study the past and even mourn the past, especially their own personal past. But they do not really want the past back. Perhaps this is because, deep down, they know that the old homestead is in ruins, or because it has been gentrified beyond recognition--or because they quietly recognize that they wouldn't much like it now anyway. Once upon a time life might have been sweeter or simpler, but it was also more dangerous, or more boring, or perhaps more unjust. Radically different from the reflective nostalgics are what Boym calls the restorative nostalgics, not all of whom recognize themselves as nostalgics at all. Restorative nostalgics don't just look at old photographs and piece together family stories. They are mythmakers and architects, builders of monuments and founders of nationalist political projects. They do not merely want to contemplate or learn from the past. They want, as Boym puts it, to "rebuild the lost home and patch up the memory gaps." Many of them don't recognize their own fictions about the past for what they are: "They believe their project is about truth." They are not interested in a nuanced past, in a world in which great leaders were flawed men, in which famous military victories had lethal side effects. They don't acknowledge that the past might have had its drawbacks. They want the cartoon version of history, and more importantly, they want to live in it, right now. They don't want to act out roles from the past because it amuses them: they want to behave as think their ancestors did, without irony. It is not by accident that restorative nostalgia often goes hand in hand with conspiracy theories and the medium-sized lies. These needn't be as harsh or crazy as the Smolensk conspiracy theory or the Soros conspiracy theory; they can gently invoke scapegoats rather than a full-fledged alternative reality. At a minimum, they can offer an explanation: The nation is no longer great because someone has attacked us, undermined us, sapped our strength. Someone—the immigrants, the foreigners, the elites, or indeed the EU—has perverted the course of history and reduced the nation to a shadow of its former self. The essential identity that we once had has been taken away and replaced with something cheap and artificial. Eventually, those who seek power on the back of restorative nostalgia will begin to cultivate these conspiracy theories, or alternative histories, or alternative fibs, whether or not they have any basis in fact.

In the story, Ivan Ilyich is forty-five years old, a midlevel Saint Petersburg magistrate whose life revolves mostly around petty concerns of social status. One day, he falls off a stepladder and develops a pain in his side. Instead of abating, the pain gets worse, and he becomes unable to work. Formerly an “intelligent, polished, lively and agreeable man,” he grows depressed and enfeebled. Friends and colleagues avoid him. His wife calls in a series of ever more expensive doctors. None of them can agree on a diagnosis, and the remedies they give him accomplish nothing. For Ilyich, it is all torture, and he simmers and rages at his situation. “What tormented Ivan Ilyich most,” Tolstoy writes, “was the deception, the lie, which for some reason they all accepted, that he was not dying but was simply ill, and he only need keep quiet and undergo a treatment and then something very good would result.” Ivan Ilyich has flashes of hope that maybe things will turn around, but as he grows weaker and more emaciated he knows what is happening. He lives in mounting anguish and fear of death. But death is not a subject that his doctors, friends, or family can countenance. That is what causes him his most profound pain. “No one pitied him as he wished to be pitied,” writes Tolstoy. “At certain moments after prolonged suffering he wished most of all (though he would have been ashamed to confess it) for someone to pity him as a sick child is pitied. He longed to be petted and comforted. He knew he was an important functionary, that he had a beard turning grey, and that therefore what he longed for was impossible, but still he longed for it.” As we medical students saw it, the failure of those around Ivan Ilyich to offer comfort or to acknowledge what is happening to him was a failure of character and culture. The late-nineteenth-century Russia of Tolstoy’s story seemed harsh and almost primitive to us. Just as we believed that modern medicine could probably have cured Ivan Ilyich of whatever disease he had, so too we took for granted that honesty and kindness were basic responsibilities of a modern doctor. We were confident that in such a situation we would act compassionately. What worried us was knowledge. While we knew how to sympathize, we weren’t at all certain we would know how to properly diagnose and treat. We paid our medical tuition to learn about the inner process of the body, the intricate mechanisms of its pathologies, and the vast trove of discoveries and technologies that have accumulated to stop them. We didn’t imagine we needed to think about much else. So we put Ivan Ilyich out of our heads. Yet within a few years, when I came to experience surgical training and practice, I encountered patients forced to confront the realities of decline and mortality, and it did not take long to realize how unready I was to help them. *   *   *

And then it sends a signal to turn off the system.” “So the universe with the wallet in the chamber waiting to be sent still exists,” added Allen. “But the universe from which it is actually sent never does.”  “That is just so messed up,” said Blake in exasperation, and Jenna, Walsh, and Soyer nodded their agreement. “Here is my advice to all of you,” said Cargill. “The best thing to do is ignore time travel, and don’t think about the paradoxes too hard. If you do, your head really will explode,” he added with a wry smile. “Just think of it as duplication and teleportation. But always keep in mind that the universe seems to go out of its way to ensure that infinite alternate timelines aren’t allowed. So no matter what, we only ever get this one universe.” He sighed. “So we’d better make sure we don’t screw it up.”     48   Brian Hamilton hated Cheyenne Mountain. Sure, it was one of the most interesting places in the world to visit, but living there only worked if you were a bat. The Palomar facility had also been underground, but nothing like this. It had a much larger security perimeter, so trips to the surface were easier to make happen. Not that it really mattered. Soon enough he would be traveling on another assignment anyway, living in a hotel room somewhere. But what he really wanted was to work side by side with Edgar Knight, toward their common goal. He was tired of being Knight’s designated spy, having to watch Lee Cargill squander Q5’s vast resources and capabilities. Watching him crawl like a wounded baby when he could be soaring. Cargill was an idiot. He could transform the world, but he was too weak to do it. He could wipe out the asshole terrorists who wanted nothing more than to butcher the helpless. If you have the ultimate cure for cancer, you use it to wipe out the disease once and for all. You don’t wield your cure only as a last resort, when the cancer has all but choked the life out of you. Edgar Knight, on the other hand, was a man with vision. He was able to make the tough decisions. If you were captain of a life raft with a maximum capacity of ten people, choosing to take five passengers of a sinking ship on board was an easy decision, not a heroic one. But what about when there were fifty passengers? Was it heroic to take them all, dooming everyone to death? Or was the heroic move using force, if necessary, to limit this number, to ensure some would survive? Sure, from the outside this looked coldhearted, while the converse seemed compassionate. But watching the world circle the drain because you were too much of a pussy to make the hard decisions was the real crime. Survival of the fittest was harsh reality. In the animal kingdom it was eat or be eaten. If you saw a group of fuck-nuts just itching to nuke the world back into the Dark Ages—who believed the Messiah equivalent, the twelfth Imam, would only come out to play when Israel was destroyed, and worldwide Armageddon unleashed—you wiped them out. To a man. Or else they’d do the same to you. It had been three days since Cargill had reported that he was on the verge of acquiring Jenna Morrison and Aaron Blake.

Life is overcome, not by finding a strong ally (God), but through the soul's ability to develop a fresh perspective that enables the transformation of harsh realities into songs.

The number of people around you does not matter because you will surely die alone in the end.

There is no quick, instant method to master English. It's always going to take dedication and hard work. But there is one thing you can do right now to begin improving faster – fix the way you think. My friend Hitomi Horiguchi (a life-coach I know in Tokyo) very rightly says, "If you fix your thinking, then your actions will also change." Very true words.

If somebody changes their tone about you it generally means that they have discovered or uncovered a truth about you that makes them not want to deal with you.

Nothing exposes the harsh reality of life better than truth, nothing exposes the beauty of life better than love.

Then he said, “I will do this: I will pull down my barns and build larger ones, and there I will store all my grain and my goods. And I will say to my soul, Soul, you have ample goods laid up for many years; relax, eat, drink, be merry.” But God said to him, “You fool! This very night your life is being demanded of you. And the things you have prepared, whose will they be?” So it is with those who store up treasures for themselves but are not rich toward God. (Luke 12:16–21) The social context outlined earlier in this chapter should help us understand why Jesus has such a harsh rebuke for those who store up treasures. In poverty-stricken Judea, a huge barn of grain and goods could provide sustenance for many suffering people. A rich man who stored up his abundance rather than providing for the needs of those around him is not only a negative example—he is a villain and an oppressor. When Jesus condemns those who are “not rich toward God,” he is reprimanding those who do not share their resources with people in need. What looks like smart financial planning in our American context—saving up for the future when we have extra—is a destructive kind of greed that ignores and even contributes to the plight of the poor. It might be tempting for us to point to the differences between our culture and theirs to excuse ourselves from Jesus’s condemnation. Surely growing our 401(k)s or saving for a family trip doesn’t make us greedy? And yet, the reality of Jesus’s world is not much different from ours—people still suffer in poverty while corporations and individuals build bigger barns and store up their treasures.

REALITY CAN BE RATHER HARSH. YOUR DAYS ARE NUMBERED. IT TAKES CONSTANT EFFORT TO CARVE A PLACE FOR YOURSELF IN THIS RUTHLESSLY COMPETITIVE WORLD AND HOLD ON TO IT. PEOPLE CAN BE TREACHEROUS. THEY BRING ENDLESS BATTLES INTO YOUR LIFE. YOUR TASK IS TO RESIST THE TEMPTATION TO WISH IT WERE ALL DIFFERENT; INSTEAD YOU MUST FEARLESSLY ACCEPT THESE CIRCUMSTANCES, EVEN EMBRACE THEM. BY FOCUSING YOUR ATTENTION ON WHAT IS GOING ON AROUND YOU, YOU WILL GAIN A SHARP APPRECIATION FOR WHAT MAKES SOME PEOPLE ADVANCE AND OTHER FALL BEHIND. BY SEEING THROUGH PEOPLE’S MANIPULATIONS, YOU CAN TURN THEM AROUND. THE FIRMER YOUR GRASP ON REALITY, THE MORE POWER YOU WILL HAVE TO ALTER IT FOR YOUR PURPOSES.

The next two essays, “My Vietnam Lessons” and “Semper Fidel,” belong to this genre, and are attempts I made to confront our radical cohort with the harsh realities of what we had actually done. Vietnam was the defining issue of our generation but the events that unfolded proved that those of us who were active in the anti-war movement had been wrong on every critical point, and that our actions had tragic consequences for the people we claimed to be defending.

The harsh reality of our existence is that we will forever face times where we will need to partake in both enjoyable and unenjoyable activity.

Accept harsh realities of life before the accept you.

Accept harsh realities of life before they accept you.

Given the inevitability of frustration, suffering and misery for human beings, Arthur Schopenhauer condemned existence as a whole, thought we would have been better off had we never come into being, and advocated a life of ascetic resignation in response to the harsh realities of life. We will suffer hardships great and small until we reach the grave, he surmised, but we can minimize the frustration and pain we experience if we castrate all our desires, seek and expect nothing, and build a fortress around our self to protect us from the demonic world.

saw the irresistible allure of high school sports, but he also saw an inevitable danger in adults’ living vicariously through their young. And he knew of no candle that burned out more quickly than that of the high school athlete. “Athletics lasts for such a short period of time. It ends for people. But while it lasts, it creates this make-believe world where normal rules don’t apply. We build this false atmosphere. When it’s over and the harsh reality sets in, that’s the real joke we play on people. . . . Everybody wants to experience that superlative moment, and being an athlete can give you that. It’s Camelot for them. But there’s even life after it.

REALITY CAN BE RATHER HARSH. YOUR DAYS ARE NUMBERED. IT TAKES CONSTANT EFFORT TO CARVE A PLACE FOR YOURSELF IN THIS RUTHLESSLY COMPETITIVE WORLD AND HOLD ON TO IT. PEOPLE CAN BE TREACHEROUS. THEY BRING ENDLESS BATTLES INTO YOUR LIFE. YOUR TASK IS TO RESIST THE TEMPTATION TO WISH IT WERE ALL DIFFERENT; INSTEAD YOU MUST FEARLESSLY ACCEPT THESE CIRCUMSTANCES, EVEN EMBRACE THEM. BY FOCUSING YOUR ATTENTION ON WHAT IS GOING ON AROUND YOU, YOU WILL GAIN A SHARP APPRECIATION FOR WHAT MAKES SOME PEOPLE ADVANCE AND OTHERS FALL BEHIND. BY SEEING THROUGH PEOPLE’S MANIPULATIONS, YOU CAN TURN THEM AROUND. THE FIRMER YOUR GRASP ON REALITY, THE MORE POWER YOU WILL HAVE TO ALTER IT FOR YOUR PURPOSES.

Some relationships are like luxury cars - they come with a hefty price tag and require constant fueling to keep them running. Without the resources to maintain them, they can quickly break down and become unsustainable. Like a car without gas, a relationship without financial support can stall and leave partners stranded, highlighting the harsh reality that sometimes, even love needs a financial safety net to thrive.

she knew all her broken souls were great, stronger than the world's cruel ways, and yet her choice was to hold the deepest sorrow deep within her own thoughts and carry on challenging her fear. that could scare her existence over and over again. world is going to stop her from going against her own suffering, all she did was hold on for a little bit longer, while others were just there to ignore her and looked like they cared, but not even her own soul was with her decisions, She promised herself to be strong and brave. but nature being so harsh on her delicate life keeps her hanging between illusions and reality. She is hoping for everything to be just a nightmare keeping herself distance from someone who might scare her, drag her low, and force her to stay there, knowing that she might dare, screaming and scaring demons around her she learnt to live like a queen ruling Hell. - Dare Her

When ego, unopposed, assumes its throne, The world, in fragments, reaps the seeds it’s sown. A kaleidoscope of discord and divide, Where separate streams in ceaseless turmoil bide. Through ego’s lens, reality transforms, A battleground where rampant desire storms. A sphere of strife, of victory and loss, Where fortunes shift as dice of fate are tossed. In ego’s solitary, narrow view, The world is painted in a hue so skewed. Confined by fears, by selfish dreams confined, Its canvas bears the limits of the mind. Thus, perception, in its manifold grace, Reflects the light of ego and soul’s face. In balance, may the truest sight be found, Where essence and ego in harmony abound. In the crucible where essence blends with sight, A wondrous transformation takes its flight. Where once division’s shadow coldly lay, Interconnection’s dawn breaks forth in day. What opposition’s harsh gaze once discerned, To harmonies of concord is now turned. The essence, with its ancient wisdom’s glow, Unveils the unity that lies below. Each leaf and stone, each soul that wanders free, A note within reality’s grand symphony. Essential, bound within the vast expanse, In life’s intricate, cosmic dance. This alchemical shift in vision’s sphere, Brings forth changes profound, both far and near. Challenges, once daunting, now unfold, As growth’s opportunities, bright and bold. Foes, once clad in enmity’s harsh guise, Transform to teachers, wise beneath the skies. Each joy, each pain, in life’s intricate weave, Threads of our evolution, we perceive. No longer a stage for vain rivalry’s play, But a landscape where learning’s blossoms sway. Growth and learning, in rich abundance, thrive, In this new world where our spirits come alive. Where once the ego’s voice, in solo strain, Ruled with iron will, in self’s domain, Now in harmony with the soul’s sweet song, It finds a place where it truly belongs. No longer master, but a partner kind, Guiding through life with a humble mind. It learns compassion’s tongue, intuition hears, Acts with mindfulness, as purpose nears. In perception’s alchemy, a journey grand, From fractured states to unity’s soft hand, From discord’s harsh cacophony to peace, A path that leads where true essences release. This sacred path, evolving as it weaves, Into our nature’s heart, where spirit cleaves. The veil of separation gently falls, As interconnectedness softly calls. Upon this path, with every step we tread, Our world transforms, new visions in its stead. The mundane now with sacredness imbues, The ordinary in extraordinary hues. Each day becomes a picture, rich and vast, For deepest truths, in vibrant colors cast. Through alchemy of sight, our roles transcend, Not mere observers, but creators bend. In world’s unfolding tale, we play our part, Co-architects, with collective heart. A reality, where highest potentials shine, In this, your design, our spirits intertwine.

People who think such things view Being itself as inequitable and harsh to the point of corruption, and human Being, in particular, as contemptible. They appoint themselves supreme adjudicators of reality and find it wanting. They are the ultimate critics.

Do everything that you can to resist Void Madness. Focus on the love, joy and happiness that can be found within yourself, no matter where you are. If you ponder the reality of The Void’s vast expanse for even one brief moment, it could have devastating effects on your mind, so focus instead on the present. Bring your attention to your day-today goals. How will you find food? What will you drink to survive? Where is there a safe place to hide? Focusing on the present will keep you from straying into Void Madness, and keep you productive for the harsh times ahead.

We are constantly told that concern over the "supposed cruelties of farming," as Stephen Budiansky puts it in "The Covenant of the Wild," is a product of the soft "urban" mind-set, unaccustomed to the harsh realities of rural life. Another way of looking at this is that the "urban" types are not steeped in the ways of blood spilling and have no financial and emotional attachments to the practices in question. In other contexts, that's usually called objectivity.

Many people entertain themselves because they want to feel good and enjoy themselves or because they have a deep emotional void that they are trying to fill. They want to abandon themselves in a “virtual reality” and forget about the harshness of the life they are trapped in. People who are entertained for these reasons are liable to escape not only from reality, but from reason as well. It is when we are in a passive consumerist mindset that we are most prone to ingesting harmful ideas and worldviews imbedded in the media we consume.

IT’S THE LITTLE THINGS We’ve been taught from such a young age that happiness is meant to be this big.Most of us are led to believe that happiness is the only final destination. We are taught that ,once we finally finally find it ,we’ll be forever satisfied in our lives so we live feeling overwhelmed and inadequate. BUT,the reality is that it is flawed “Happiness” is not the destination. I don’t think happiness is only big!! I think real happiness exists in the small things. Someone once said, “live for the little things in your life.” Live for the hot cup of coffee in the morning , Live for the days when you are surrounded by your loved ones or the sound of your parents voice. Live for those mornings and nights when you are happiest of all times. Live for the prettiest colours of skies with your favourite music playing nearby. Live for the moments when you laughed so hard that your stomach hurted and the every other thing, that made you feel electrified, and for the sudden realisation in your body that gives you comfort. It is these things in your life that makes you feel grateful and takes up the most room in your heart. The real happiness exists in finding the human beings who truly see youu ,who takes care of your soul! It exists in finding things that makes is feel known,special and at peace in this cold,harsh world,Who makes us realise that what is life and gives you the will to live . The little things?! The little moments?! And yes these are the only tiniest moments of our life that makes us feel loved and makes our heart smile:) Thus makes our life worth living -Zubia Ayman

The harsh reality of our condemnation is met with the lavish grace of Jesus' redemption. In His love, the wretched and foolish are transformed into the beloved and wise, and eternal life is offered to all who put their faith in Him.

Don’t we often look at the many events of our lives as big or small interruptions, interrupting many of our plans, projects and life schemes? Don’t we feel an inner protest when a student interrupts our reading, bad weather our summer, illness our well-scheduled plans, the death of a dear friend our peaceful state of mind, a cruel war our ideas about the goodness of man, and the many harsh realities of life our good dreams about it? And doesn’t this unending row of interruptions build in our hearts feelings of anger, frustration and even revenge, so much so that at times we see the real possibility that growing old can become synonymous with growing bitter?

Setting our hearts n what is unseen, while living amidst the harsh reality of what is seen, reminds us that, like Jesus, we are simply passing through this earthly life.

An excessively positive outlook can also complicate dying. Psychologist James Coyne has focused his career on end-of-life attitudes in patients with terminal cancer. He points out that dying in a culture obsessed with positive thinking can have devastating psychological consequences for the person facing death. Dying is difficult. Everyone copes and grieves in different ways. But one thing is for certain: If you think you can will your way out of a terminal illness, you will be faced with profound disappointment. Individuals swept up in the positive-thinking movement may delay meaningful, evidence-based treatment (or neglect it altogether), instead clinging to so-called “manifestation” practices in the hope of curing disease. Unfortunately, this approach will most often lead to tragedy. In perhaps one of the largest investigations on the topic to date, Dr. Coyne found that there is simply no relationship between emotional well-being and mortality in the terminally ill (see James Coyne, Howard Tennen, and Adelita Ranchor, 2010). Not only will positive thinking do nothing to delay the inevitable; it may make what little time is left more difficult. People die in different ways, and quality of life can be heavily affected by external societal pressures. If an individual feels angry or sad but continues to bear the burden of friends’, loved ones’, and even medical professionals’ expectations to “keep a brave face” or “stay positive,” such tension can significantly diminish quality of life in one’s final days. And it’s not just the sick and dying who are negatively impacted by positive-thinking pseudoscience. By its very design, it preys on the weak, the poor, the needy, the down-and-out. Preaching a gospel of abundance through mental power sets society as a whole up for failure. Instead of doing the required work or taking stock of the harsh realities we often face, individuals find themselves hoping, wishing, and praying for that love, money, or fame that will likely never come. This in turn has the potential to set off a feedback loop of despair and failure.

That night, Sarbajaya made khichuri for Apu. It was one of his favourite dishes. After almost a week, Apu got to eat a full meal. 'Do you eat khichuri in the city?' Sarbajaya asked him. When Apu was a child, his mother had veiled their poverty and the harsh realities of life through dozens of lies, a hundred little deceptions. Now it was Apu's turn. He replied, 'Yes. They make khichuri quite often.' 'And in the morning? What do you usually have for breakfast?' Apu promptly gave her details of imaginary breakfasts: he had puris sometimes, he said, and sweets and tea. Food was no problem where he lived, he added.

HOW I BUSTED MY UNFAITHFUL WIFE WITH THE HELP OF GRAYHATHACKS CONTRACTOR My wife had become increasingly distant, her behavior erratic, and she would often go out with friends and return home at odd hours. Her phone was her sanctuary, which she guarded fiercely. I had a gut-wrenching feeling that she was being unfaithful, but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't catch her in the act. That's when I stumbled upon Grayhathacks Contractor, a team of professional hackers who specialize in investigating matters of infidelity. The process was swift and straightforward. They requested some basic information about Rachel's phone and her daily routines, which I provided with a heavy heart. I had to be meticulous in my details, describing her habits such as her favorite coffee shop where she'd often go to 'work' on her laptop, the secret password she used for her phone among other details. Their service was impeccable. Within a few hours, they had infiltrated Rachel's phone and installed an undetectable spyware that would allow me to monitor her messages, calls, location, and even her social media accounts. The software was so sophisticated that it didn't drain her battery or cause any glitches that would raise suspicion. The first few days were agonizing as I waited for any signs of deceit, but the evidence I gathered was chilling. She had been meeting her ex-boyfriend, at a motel just outside of town. The spyware provided me with the exact dates, times, and even the exact location where they were staying. I could see their flirty texts, the lovey-dovey emojis, and the incriminating photos they exchanged. But what was most disturbing was Rachel's level of deception. She had gone to great lengths to cover her tracks. She would delete messages and call logs, and even change her phone's settings to prevent any notifications from her ex from reaching her lock screen. It was like watching a masterclass in infidelity, and she had done it all right under my nose. Grayhathacks Contractor also provided me with a detailed report of her whereabouts. I could see the exact moments she lied to me about her whereabouts, the hours she spent with Michael, and the clandestine meetings she arranged when she thought I was out of town. It was a crushing realization, but I needed to know the truth. When I finally gathered the courage to confront her, I had irrefutable proof of her betrayal. The look on her face said it all. She had been caught red-handed, and she knew it. The truth was out, and it was disgusting. She had betrayed me in the worst possible way. The service they provide is not for the faint of heart, but for those who suspect their partner of infidelity and need concrete evidence, I can't recommend Grayhathacks Contractor enough. They gave me the tools to uncover the harsh reality and, ultimately, make the right decision for my life. Contact Email grayhathacks@contractor.net

Documentary photography is one of the prominent and influential branches in the art of photography that records social, cultural, and even historical realities. This type of photography allows the photographer to depict real and sometimes untold stories of everyday life and people. In this type of photography, the main goal is to convey the sense of realness and authenticity of the scenes. In this article, we will review important tips and principles for documentary photography with a camera and explain how to record facts in an attractive and effective way. Choosing the right equipment Choosing the right equipment Choosing the right equipment for documentary photography is very important, because you often need to act quickly and accurately. Using DSLR cameras and mirrorless cameras are the best options for this type of photography. Camera feature advantages High flexibility DSLR, excellent image quality, various lenses Mirrorless light and compact, more speed, silence Recommended lenses: 50mm prime lens: for portraits and close-ups. 24mm wide lens: for shooting wide landscapes and scenes. The importance of light in documentary photography Natural light is one of the main factors in documentary photography. You can't always control the lighting conditions, but learning to use ambient light, especially in public or outdoor settings, can help you create better images. Important points in using light: Natural light: during the golden hours (early morning and evening) is the best time to take documentary photos. This light is soft and pleasant. Shadow Light: If the direct sunlight is strong, try shooting in the shadows to avoid harsh shadows on your subjects. Composition techniques in documentary photography Composition is one of the key principles in documentary photography, with the help of which you can tell a telling and interesting story. The rule of thirds is one of the best and most common compositional rules used by documentary photographers. Rule of thirds: Divide the image frame into three horizontal parts and three vertical parts. Place the important subjects of the photo at the intersection points of these lines. Also, pay attention to the depth of the scene and try to use the foreground and background properly to make your image more dynamic. Taking meaningful photos One of the important principles in documentary photography is the meaningfulness of the images. Each photo should tell a story or capture a special moment. In order for your images to be real and emotional, it is better to interact with your subjects and capture them in their natural state. Don't be afraid to record unexpected and normal moments; Because these moments can better reflect the reality of everyday life. Recording feelings and emotions: Documentary photography should be able to show feelings and emotions well. Pay attention to small details in faces, gestures and looks. These details can add depth to your images. Choose the right angle The right angle of view can make a big difference in the impact of your documentary photo. Try different angles to find the best way to tell your story. Low Angle: To show the power or glory of a subject. High Angle: To show the smallness or loneliness of the subject. Normal angle (Eye Level): to create a closer and more realistic connection with the viewer. Camera settings for documentary photography Camera settings for documentary photography Camera settings are very important for documentary photography, as you may be shooting in different light conditions and at high speed. In the following, we mention some key camera settings for documentary photography. shutter speed For documentary photography, where there is a lot of movement in the scene, the shutter speed is very important. If you are shooting moving scenes, the shutter speed should be faster than 1/250 second to avoid blurring. resource : nivamag.ir

For deep adherents, the Koran would seem to echo great truths given directly to a vaunted and hallowed prophet by a deity of overwhelming power and grandeur. If you don’t hold any such archaic notions, however, the words attributed to Allah come across as harshly self-defensive, crude in reemphasizing old cultural standards, shaky in trying to establish new standards, brutal in places, mostly repetitious and monotonous – and thoroughly unbelievable. When you have outgrown all such unfounded religious notions, the Koran doesn’t offer much by way of piercing perspective.

What is the life of one person worth? Although the Supreme leader Kim Jong-un is not suicidal, life to him is relatively cheap, after all he had his half-brother murdered. The countries population of almost 25 million people is harshly subjugated and the military consists of 5,200,000 men and women both active and in the reserves. Although his military ranks as 25th of the worlds military powers, it is the development of nuclear weapons and their delivery systems that makes Kim Jong-un so dangerous. It is estimated that they have about a dozen nuclear devices that could most likely be delivered as far as Japan. Of course their future targets, including the United States are more ambitious. In contrast to their troop strength, the United States has 1,400,000 personnel under arms, South Korea has only 624,465 and China has 2,333,000 personnel. Our advantage is primarily technical, however regardless of our superiority in battlefield technology, oil which they get from China, remains the lifeblood of their supporting economy and army. North Korea has threatened to fire missiles at the U. S. military bases in Okinawa and Guam. The reality of a war is that we would most likely win such a conflict but at a very high cost. The biggest losers of a war on the Korean Peninsula would be South Korea, North Korea and the United States in that order. If there were to be a winner it would be Russia. What are we thinking? Perhaps we should come up with a better strategy.

After parking in the west lot, far from a certain gang member with a reputation that could scare off even the toughest Fairfield football players, Sierra and I walk up the front steps of Fairfield High. Unfortunately, Alex Fuentes and the rest of his gang friends are hanging by the front doors. “Walk right past them,” Sierra mutters. “Whatever you do, don’t look in their eyes.” It’s pretty hard not to when Alex Fuentes steps right in front of me and blocks my path. What’s that prayer you’re supposed to say right before you know you’re going to die? “You’re a lousy driver,” Alex says with his slight Latino accent and full-blown-I-AM-THE-MAN stance. The guy might look like an Abercrombie mode with his ripped bod and flawless face, but his picture is more likely to be taken for a mug shot. The kids from the north side don’t really mix with kids from the south side. It’s not that we think we’re better than them, we’re just different. We’ve grown up in the same town, but on totally opposite sides. We live in big houses on Lake Michigan and they live next to the train tracks. We look, talk, act, and dress different. I’m not saying it’s good or bad; it’s just the way it is in Fairfield. And, to be honest, most of the south side girls treat me like Carmen Sanchez does…they hate me because of who I am. Or, rather, who they think I am. Alex’s gaze slowly moves down my body, traveling the length of me before moving back up. It’s not the first time a guy has checked me out, it’s just that I never had a guy like Alex do it so blatantly…and so up-close. I can feel my face getting hot. “Next time, watch where you’re goin’,” he says, his voice cool and controlled. He’s trying to bully me. He’s a pro at this. I won’t let him get to me and win his little game of intimidation, even if my stomach feels like I’m doing one hundred cartwheels in a row. I square my shoulders and sneer at him, the same sneer I use to push people away. “Thanks for the tip.” “If you ever need a real man to teach you how to drive, I can give you lessons.” Catcalls and whistles from his buddies set my blood boiling. “If you were a real man, you’d open the door for me instead of blocking my way,” I say, admiring my own comeback even as my knees threaten to buckle. Alex steps back, pulls the door open, and bows like he’s my butler. He’s totally mocking me, he knows it and I know it. Everyone knows it. I catch a glimpse of Sierra, still desperately searching for nothing in her purse. She’s clueless. “Get a life,” I tell him. “Like yours? Cabróna, let me tell you somethin’,” Alex says harshly. “Your life isn’t reality, it’s fake. Just like you.” “It’s better than living my life as a loser,” I lash out, hoping my words sting as much as his words did. “Just like you.” Grabbing Sierra’s arm, I pull her toward the open door. Catcalls and comments follow us as we walk into the school. I finally let out the breath I must have been holding, then turn to Sierra. My best friend is staring at me, all bug-eyed. “Holy shit, Brit! You got a death wish or something?” “What gives Alex Fuentes the right to bully everyone in his path?” “Uh, maybe the gun he has hidden in his pants or the gang colors he wears,” Sierra says, sarcasm dripping from every word. “He’s not stupid enough to carry a gun to school,” I reason. “And I refuse to be bullied, by him or anyone else.

My addiction to movies and television has left me entirely unprepared for the harsh realities of post-apocalyptic life.” “Which

Ironically, harsh self-criticism seems to create an inner rebelliousness that makes us want to give up on our healthy goals. Self-compassion acknowledges the reality that it’s an unhealthy moment, not an unhealthy life, and you have a choice what the next moment is going to be. And it motivates you to make a healthy, compassionate choice.

Ireland is filled with tales and legends. It’s one of the things that makes it so special. I lost that part of me when I left. The part that believed in more than what my eyes could see, or my hands could touch. And I wonder if, once you’ve lost it, once the veil has been removed and you see the harsh reality of life, you can ever get that childlike faith back.

February 2013 My Email to Andy (Part One)   My chance encounter with Max was both a blessing and an affliction. After I’d checked into the majestic lady, The Oriental, hunger hit my rumbling stomach. I needed to savour some authentic Thai food. Unfortunately, the moment I stepped out of the hotel’s door, I was confronted by the harsh reality of Bangkok’s civic life. As at Don Mueang International Airport, rows of local taxi drivers lined the hotel’s periphery, ready to debauch the first customer that ventured out without soliciting The Oriental’s private limo service.                Again, I found myself surrounded by a barrage of locals offering me the best bargain on transportation to my destination. Who should come to my rescue but the same driver that had deposited Max and me? In the foulest Thai vernacular he could master, he repulsed those who challenged him. The vultures scattered, allowing me to embark in his not-so-new sedan. ”Where you want go sir?” he asked. ”Take me to an excellent place for local food,” I replied. ”I take you to good place, sir,” he responded and sped off into the dark. The question of whether I wanted a sexy girl to accompany me during my Bangkok stay arose again. I refused his offer with politeness. The man rephrased his query: “You want boy? I take you to good boy-bar.” I shook my head, yet he continued to pester me for an answer. We bantered back and forth, I not revealing my sexual preference while he used every contrivance to solicit an answer. Instead of delivering me to the city’s hub, he headed in the opposite direction towards a suburb that had almost no street lights. Worrisome thoughts of robbery and murder had begun to plague me when the vehicle finally came to a halt at a two-storied house in the middle of nowhere.

It's easy to dislike the truth for it is ugly and harsh to the naked eye.

A person is bound to experience troubling doubts when attempting to forge a viable philosophy for living. When we are young, the world appears as a dream, no desire is unattainable, and no goal is impossible. We do not entertain the notion that the world will blunt our passionate aspirations, we assume that the world will yield to our resolute will. Misfortune, poverty, illness, and death crush a person’s hopes, awakening us to parts of oneself and the world that we previously denied. When fate has spoken harshly we initially feel ruined, life appears as a bleak wasteland. We must then chose to accept a misery ridden existence or rally the courage and fortitude to turn our thoughts from bitterness and regrets, surrender vain notions that we are somehow special and immune from the terrors of a life when reality does not care a wit for our survival.

The Law was given so that there would be a standard to break in the first place, and man, becoming convinced of his inability to lead a righteous life, would be convinced of a deeper problem. His eyes would be opened to the harsh realities of the fall, and of his own internalization of sin. Then, at just the right moment, when he was fully convinced of his powerlessness against the corruption of sin, Jesus Christ, being too pure and noble to simply watch this evil unfold, exploded onto the scene as savior, giving Grace to all. The Law gave us a grid for understanding what we needed saving from, and Christ’s coming revealed the amazing depth of God’s love in saving us from it.

My brother shielded her from the harsh realities of life but, as you must know, the parents ought not to pluck the thorns out before they hand down the roses to their children; it is not always possible to shield your child against all the disappointments that life bestows. A day comes when a child has to face life on her own and, as a parent, one has to make sure that the child is ready.

Why should you buy the cow, if you can get the milk for free?” Answer: There is no reason, no incentive, no need to buy the cow. If the cow continues to supply free milk, the milk’s value and the cow’s value are greatly reduced and free milk will keep that cow feeling empty, misused and unwanted. This is the harsh reality of giving out discounts. Of course, we are not cows, but rather sons and daughters of the Most High God, so let’s be mindful not to discount the price that was paid for us on Calvary.

Spirit must be cultivated; it must be nourished and encouraged. If it is, then a child's innocent spirit grows up to be strong enough to withstand the harsh realities of an often unspiritual world. Losing touch with spirit does nothing to the infinite field of creativity, which is beyond harm, but it can do much to damage a person's chances in life. With spirit we are all children of the cosmos; without it we are orphaned and set adrift.

An infant is pure spiritual gold. Cherishing her innocence is the way to find the path back to our own,’ says Deepak Chopra in his book The Seven Spiritual Laws for Parents. ‘So in a very important way it is the parent who sits at the feet of the baby.’ It is up to us as parents to pass on the principles of spirit to our children. ‘Every child has a spiritual life already. This is because every child is born into the field of infinite creativity and pure awareness that is spirit. But not every child knows that this is true. Spirit must be cultivated; it must be nourished and encouraged. If it is, then a child’s innocent spirit grows up to be strong enough to withstand the harsh realities of an often unspiritual world.’ ‘Raise children as if they’re intelligent and ask them questions, ask them lots of questions,’ Knoles said. ‘You don’t just want to be an announcer: here’s the announcement of the truth. You want to ask the child what the truth is. What’s the truth here?’ I

Do you ever feel like your life is a dance on broiling sand? Or that you’re being burned or stung by the elements? Let God and His love be your shade, your protection from the harsh realities of the elements of life.

The prime minister was provoked by what he considered to be unfriendly or inept coverage, or both, over many months. He concluded that the editors had lost control of the newsroom. . .What was probably the last straw for him was coverage of Israeli president Chaim Herzog's visit. When the Foreign Ministry announced the visit, fury flared across the Causeway. The Malaysian prime minister, Dr Mahathir Mohamad, recalled his high commissioner to Singapore and demanded the visit be cancelled. For Singapore to do so after the visit was announced would inflict serious damage on its sovereignty. Demonstrations erupted in many parts of Malaysia, and at the Malaysian end of the Causeway more than 100 demonstrators tried to stop a Singapore-bound train. Singapore flags were burnt. There were threats to cut off the water supply from Johor. Malaysia saw the visit as an insult. It did not recognise Israel, and had expected Singapore to be sensitive to its feelings. Singapore, however, could not refuse the Israeli request for its head of state to make a stopover visit in Singapore, the tail end of his three-week tour of Australia, New Zealand, Fiji and the Philippines, the first visit to this part of the world by an Israeli leader. Singapore could hardly forget the crucial assistance Israel had provided the Singapore Armed Forces in the early days of independence, when other friendly countries like Egypt and India had declined to help. What angered Lee Kuan Yew was our coverage of the Malaysian reactions to the visit. He felt it was grossly inadequate. . .Coverage in the Malaysian English press was restrained, but in their Malay press, Singapore was condemned in inflammatory language, and accused of being Israel's Trojan horse in Southeast Asia. A threat to target Singapore Airlines was prominently reported. . .And by depriving Singaporeans of the full flavour of what the Malaysian Malay media was reporting, an opportunity was lost to educate them about the harsh reality of life in the region, with two large Muslim-majority neighbours.

she did not know really what she was going to face. Yet, the trip once started, is pursued with the greatest effort. It proves way harder than anticipated, but is not given up. The analogy to my own plan applies as the reality of life in Israel in 1950 was harsh, much harder than expected. I thought of my day of departure from the U.S. as my declaration of independence, as my Fourth of July. The decision was not taken lightly and did not ripen overnight. I was nearing an age when I knew that I had to create my own home, my own family.

We actually have a misperception of reality. And what we're doing through meditation is training in being able to perceive reality correctly. Enlightenment is perceiving reality with an open, unfixated mind, even in the most difficult circumstances... You could say it's as if we are in a box with a tiny little slit. We perceive reality out of that little slit, and we think that's how life is. And then as we meditate - if we train in gentleness, and if we train in letting go, if we bring relaxation as well as faithfulness to the technique into the equation; if we work with open eyes and with being awake and present, and if we train that way moment after moment in our real life - what begins to happen is that the crack begins to get bigger, and it's as if we perceive more. We develop a wider and more tolerant perspective. It might just be that we notice that we're sometimes awake and we're sometimes asleep; or we notice that our mind goes off, and our mind comes back. We begin to notice - the first big discovery, of course - that we think so, so much. We begin to develop what's called prajna, or "clear wisdom." With this clear wisdom, we are likely to feel a growing sense of confidence that we can handle more, that we can even love more. Perhaps there are times when we are able to climb out of the box altogether. But believe me, if that happened too soon, we would freak out. Usually we're not ready to perceive out of the box right away. But we move in that direction. We're becoming more and more relaxed with uncertainty, more and more relaxed with groundlessness, more and more relaxed with not having walls around us to keep us protected in a little box or cocoon. Enlightenment isn't about going someplace else or attaining something that we don't have right now. Enlightenment is when the blinders start to come off. We are uncovering the true state, or uncovering buddha nature. This is important because each day when you sit down, you can recognize that it's a process of gradually uncovering something that's already here. That's why relaxation and letting go are so important. You can't uncover something by harshness or uptightness because those things cover our buddha nature. Stabilizing the mind, bringing out the sharp clarity of mind, needs to be accompanied by relaxation and openness.

You can choose daily to brace up and face the harsh realities of life . . . Or while away the days that come by daydreaming . . . Better still, you can make your dreams your realities.

But those who study the Civil War from a purely military perspective tend to miss or gloss over slavery. Many people are more comfortable not dealing with it and with white supremacy and “blur the reality that slavery was at the heart of the matter, ignore the baser realities of the brutal fighting, romanticize our own home- grown terrorist organization, the Ku Klux Klan that still intrude on our national life.” Thus, for many Americans, it is far easier to ignore the harsh reality that slavery and racism were at the heart of the Civil War.

We can live life in the ‘if only’ lane or make the best of it and appreciate where we are right now. So the question for me was not ‘How can I have 20 years’ experience on Day 1?’ because that wasn’t possible. Everyone has to walk exactly the same road as I was walking, from being inexperienced to experienced. There is no other way. Rather the question she wanted me to ask myself was ‘How can I be the best young, inexperienced therapist I can be, given my limitations?’ Because that was all there was for these individuals – there was no one else. It was a harsh lesson in some ways but it helped me confront the reality of my limitations: I could only be what I could be.

I decide to believe in the strange truth of it: You can say there is suffering only if you believe there is a God.5 If there is no God, there can’t be suffering, only life and the harsh reality of survival of the fittest. To believe there is suffering implies there is injustice. But if you believe there is no God, there can’t be any injustice; there can only be pain and the natural outcome of natural selection. But if you believe there truly is unjust suffering, if you believe that babies shouldn’t die and diagnoses shouldn’t devour dreams and violence shouldn’t violate hopes, your very conscience is appealing to a higher moral law. How else do you explain the indignation over the wrongness of suffering, except that the indignation itself seems to explain that you know there is rightly supposed to be more?

In the midst of that suffering, pro-lifers have spent decades working to help women of all races and all social classes, in all types of difficult situations, encouraging them and supporting them so they can avoid abortion and choose life for their unborn children. They do this important work often without praise, yet at every turn they face harsh opposition from abortion businesses and abortion-rights activists, whose hatred of pregnancy-resource centers can be explained only by the reality that they are pro-abortion, not pro-choice.

I knew the boys in my first novel, which I was writing at that time, weren't as raw as they could be, weren't *real.* I knew they were failing as characters because I wasn't pushing them to assume the reality that my real-life boys, Demond among them, experienced every day. I loved them too much: as an author, I was a benevolent God. I protected them from death, from drug addiction, from needlessly harsh sentences in jail for doing stupid, juvenile things like stealing four-wheel ATVs. All of the young Black men in my life, in my community, had been prey to these things in real life, and yet in the lives I imagined for them, I avoided the truth. I couldn't figure out how to love my characters less. How to look squarely at what was happening to the young Black people I knew in the South, and to write honestly about that. How to be an Old Testament God. To avoid all of this, I drank.

Life’s reality is that we cannot bounce back. We cannot bounce back because we cannot go back in time to the people we used to be. The parent who loses a child never bounces back. The nineteen-year-old marine who sails for war is gone forever, even if he returns. “What’s done cannot be undone,” and some of what life does to us is harsh.

To be forgotten is the fear of all men, the root of unending evils- why we raise others to remember our names, in the hopes that they reach the same livelihood. The chance to atone for that loss is life’s fortune and greatest mistake.

The trouble with steeling yourself against the harshness of reality is that the same steel that secures your life against being destroyed secures your life also against being opened up and transformed. (The Sacred Journey) Only when we enter our wound will we discover our true glory.

One must accept others as they are, even if they’re different and what we see of them doesn’t fit with our ideas. This doesn’t mean that we should ignore reality—there are people who do wrong, or that we should distance ourselves from because they’re toxic—but regarding most people, the healthiest thing is to keep a pluralistic, generous frame of mind and be open to admitting that there are people who don’t conform to our criteria at all. Closing oneself off harshly to everything different should be avoided. If you only accept people who have a certain level of education or come from a certain class within society, if you’re obsessed with fans of a certain football team or members of a certain trade or profession, if you systematically reject everyone who comes from a certain region, country, or continent—without a doubt your capacity to understand the world and those around you will be reduced and you’ll lose out on many of the subtle nuances that make our world so rich and diverse. It’s no good generalizing and rejecting social groups or particular categories of people. Everyone has something to offer us.

Patrick G. Cox’s book “Ned Farrier Master Mariner: Call of the Cape” is a compelling piece of historical fiction about a young seafarer named Ned Farrier. The story takes place in South Africa and England in the middle of the 19th century. The author, Cox, does a great job of showing how sailors and settlers lived in this time period. He or she tells an interesting story that teaches readers about sailing terms, harsh realities, and the new frontiers of South Africa. Ned Farrier, the main character of the book, is a likeable person who has changed a lot since his time in the London workhouse and the Vauxhall gentleman’s club. He has learned a lot about how to sail and is now the captain of his own merchant ship. But he just lost his young wife and child to consumption, which has left him with a strong desire for a better life. Ned moves up in his job and with his bosses over the course of the book, but his heart is always drawn to Sally Hudsmith, who is married and has her own problems. The author does a great job building up Sally’s character and showing how hard it is for her to be a passenger on Ned’s ship. When Sally’s husband dies, she is once again a passenger, headed back to England, which no longer feels like home. The story follows their parallel lives as they write letters to each other. Their love for each other is clear. Cox makes a true picture of how people lived on sailing ships and the new steamships of the time. The book is interesting to read because it tells about the difficulties of settling down in South Africa, which was then a new frontier, and the excitement of dating outside of England. Overall, “Ned Farrier Master Mariner: Call of the Cape” is a fun and interesting book that people who like historical fiction, sailing, and South African history will enjoy. Cox has done a great job of making a world that feels real and is filled with interesting characters and a compelling story.

Because the standard liberal whine that the rich were cushioned from life’s harsh realities was laughable ignorance: the rich created those realities, and made sure they kept on happening. That was what kitchens were for, along with prisons, factories and public transport.

To those who have everything, more will be given; from those who have nothing, everything will be taken.

I have spoken over the years to many artists, musicians, innovators, athletes, thinkers, poets, entrepreneurs, big dreamers from all walks of life, and there is a secret conversation that always seems to arise: How can we fully pursue and realize our visions while at the same time cultivating love, a thriving family, and fulfilling relationships? And here's the harsh reality for everyone who loves a dreamer: Everything comes second to the dream. The attainment of my dream became an act of survival. In my darkest nights, my dream saved my life - it was my light, my food. My vision of brighter days sustained me. It was my whole purpose. Failure equaled death. My belief was, When I get to the top of this mountain, I will never be scared or sad again. I'll never be abused or disrespected or unloved. And there is nothing I am unwilling to leave or to lose to get there. And anyone who opposes or impedes my progress is my enemy.

She gulped, "Mother, I’m serious." Mabel pleaded with her eyes, "she doesn’t look well." "Your sister is a fantasist and a brat," Clara responded. "What?" Mabel was surprised at her cold-hearted response. She knew her mother wasn’t one to mince words, but the harshness of these was even worse than she expected. "She always fills her head with nonsense, and when it doesn’t come to fruition, she implodes. She’s been like that since she was a child. You should know it as well as I do." Clara said sternly. "But mother!" Mabel argued, desperate for her mother to see how her daughter needed help. "Don’t mother me!" Clara spat, "you’re just as bad!" Mabel recoiled as her mother spoke. "You pander to her. You spoil her. You make such a fuss over her when she tantrums. This is what happens when you raise a child like that." Clara pointed her finger like a dagger of blame. "When in reality, you’re doing it because you want to feel needed. She would have been better off if you’d just left her to herself." "Get your own life," she said firmly, leaving a millisecond gap between each word before dismissing her daughter from the table. Mabel was furious. She lifted herself out of her seat and started to storm out of the kitchen before turning back, "Just so you know," she got her mother’s attention, "neither of us asked to be here." Mabel spat. Clara shrugged, "no one does.

Don't play games if you can't afford to lose.

right: profound un-understanding of others persisted throughout Churchill’s life. Hindered by that obtusity, he had discovered the extreme vulnerability of his own position, and the harsh reality of politics. The truth was painfully simple: he had too many enemies, too few friends, and almost no popular support.

I have spoken over the years to many artists, musicians, innovators, athletes, thinkers, poets, entrepreneurs, big dreamers from all walks of life, and there is a secret conversation that always seems to arise: How can we fully pursue and realize our visions while at the same time cultivating love, a thriving family, and fulfilling relationships? And here’s the harsh reality for everyone who loves a dreamer: Everything comes second to the dream.

That a delicacy for the pampered was acquired through brutality was hardly news. By any civilized standard, it was how luxury ought to be measured - wealth meant nothing if it didn't create suffering. Because that standard liberal whine that the rich were cushioned from life's harsh realties was laughable ignorance: the rich created those realities, and made sure they kept on happening. That was what kitchens were for, along prisons, factories and public transport.

There is no harsh treatment without hate nor harm.

modern parents preside over an atmosphere of too much praise, too little failure and insufficient boundary-setting, leaving many young people ill-equipped for the harsh realities of life.

He is becoming an average middle-aged South Korean man, his belly round, his chest puny, and his arms jiggly. People relax when they look at his belly. They assume that someone like him can't be a mugger. It's safest to be a man who is uninteresting, neither too old nor young. Someone living a settled life. The kind of man who supports his family but is ignored by them. These ordinary men sometimes take part in risky transactions when the opportunity presents itself, their hearts racing, trying to believe they're safe because everyone does it. They can become mired in a bog of corruption, perhaps in the form of kickbacks, bribery, or slush funds, and they don't foolishly dream that they can wade out of it. Nothing has changed since their college days when they clandestinely studied Kim Il Sung's Juche Idea. Some men say that being involved in politics is like balancing on prison walls—morally precarious. But Ki-young believes that this is the common fate of all men. Those men who were once bewitched by illegal ideology in college are probably leading the same mundane life as Ki-yong. They would have realized the harsh reality that is capitalism and quickly given their all to the world into which they were born.

I've come to realize that I don't need human friends to feel supported. God is my ultimate defender and confidant. While people may offer comforting words, I know that they can't be physically present to face life's challenges with me. It's a harsh truth that many individuals are deceitful and forgetful of our shared struggles. But I take comfort in knowing that God is always with me, never abandoning or forsaking me. In times of need, I'll remain silent and trust that He will fight my battles. As the scripture says, 'No weapon formed against me shall prosper' (Isaiah 54:17). I find solace in His unwavering presence and protection.

When Christ is your Team Captain, you can count on a winning strategy for life’s most important games. Even now, the Lord is saying to you, ‘I will help you manage your stress, endure your struggles, and meet your challenges with courage. I will help you deal with life’s harsh realities, overcome your obstacle

You can’t go home again,” wrote Thomas Wolfe, and he might as well have been writing about the newly minted Imperial Japanese Navy aviator, resplendently clad in blue and brass, returning home to visit his family. Of course his parents and siblings were overjoyed to see him, and he them. He had done them a great honor, lifting the status of his entire clan in the eyes of neighbors, colleagues, and friends. He was bigger, stronger, tougher, older, wiser. But his homecoming was inevitably poignant, and more than a little strange. He might have dreamed of home every night he was away, clasping it in his imagination as a sanctuary from the brutality of his tormentors and the unremitting toil of his training. Once there, however, he was inevitably taken aback by the comfort, the ease, the disorder, the aimlessness. The reality of home had steadily diverged from the image he had carried in his mind. It contrasted too sharply with the harsh, purposeful life to which he had grown accustomed. He loved his family as much as he ever had, and they loved him as much as they ever had, but he was aghast at how much space had grown between them. They could never fully understand what he had done and endured, or what he had become. That was a secret known only to his classmates, his fellow survivors, who had shared in the long crucible of his training—the fatigue, the humiliations, the beatings, the deprivations, the chronic dread of expulsion, the ecstasy of flight, and the inconceivable joy he had felt upon receiving those blessed wings. He might never admit it, but his fellow airmen were closer to him now than his own kin. He belonged with them. He could not go home again because now the navy was his home.

Buechner came to the following realization: “The trouble with steeling yourself against the harshness of reality is that the same steel that secures your life against being destroyed secures your life also against being opened up and transformed by the holy power that life itself comes from.

Childhood friends don't necessarily know you best. I know thos. But they do know a version of you best, and that can be such a relief in the harsh reality of adult life; sometimes we need someone who we don't need to explain ourselves to.

I am not the only one critical of the West. Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn had harsh words for those who perverted the meaning of liberty and set up a lie as a rule of life. In 1980, in his book L’erreur de l’Occident,7 he wrote: “The Western world has arrived at a decisive moment. Over the next few years, it will gamble the existence of the civilization that created it. I think that it is not aware of it. Time has eroded your notion of liberty. You have kept the word and devised a different notion. You have forgotten the meaning of liberty. When Europe acquired it, around the eighteenth century, it was a sacred notion. Liberty led to virtue and heroism. You have forgotten that. This liberty, which for us is still a flame that lights up our night, has become for you a stunted, sometimes disappointing reality, because it is full of imitation jewelry, wealth, and emptiness. For this ghost of the former liberty, you are no longer capable of making sacrifices but only compromises. . . Deep down, you think that liberty is won once and for all, and this is why you can afford the luxury of disdaining it. You are engaged in a formidable battle, and you behave as though it were a ping pong match.” This man who experienced repression in the gulags of the former USSR can use such language. He knows firsthand what true liberty is. Today in Europe, there are

The first year holds trauma unlike any other. The second year is a time of learning hard lessons, facing harsh realities, understanding that you, alone, are responsible for the life change you must accept, the new life you must develop.

He loved being alone. It helped him to think. But today, he wished he was not alone. He wished he was surrounded by people. He wished he didn’t know her. He wished whatever happened would never have happened. And he wished his life was different, a bit simpler maybe. He has grown tired of fighting constantly for everything in his life. He wanted to put an end to the sufferings. He wished he would wake up suddenly and realised it was all a nightmare. Perhaps. But it wasn’t. It was the harsh reality of his life. And he couldn’t do anything about it.

We must judge our idealistic self in the harsh daylight of our concrete deeds. It is the fragments from unanticipated moments in life – suffering, sadness, and fearfulness – when quixotically strung together that ultimately divulge us. Unexpected encounters in the world, especially when fate sideswipes us, reveal our core persona. With the residue garnered from a pastiche of unpleasant moments, we winnow out who we would prefer to be from who we actually are. Conflict, crisis, tragedy, and pathos force us to address whom we in reality contritely mushroomed into becoming.

You and I can face the harsh realities of life in this broken world with courage and hope because we do not face them all by ourselves. Immanuel (“God with us”) is indeed with us in power, glory, and grace.

I often walk my dog in the neighborhood, and I think about Chita living in this barrio. She had been born there and enjoyed being surrounded by family and people she had known all her life. Economic disparities resulting in the displacement of brown people from their own barrio emphasize a haunting and harsh reality that stands apart from my own childhood memories of this area now known as Barrio Viejo. Only the adobe structures stand as reminders of a past that now seems remote. In 2018, actor Diane Keaton paid $1.5 million for an adobe home in Barrio Viejo. The lopsidedness between the past and the present becomes crystal clear each time I walk Meyer Avenue: hardworking Chita could once afford to live there, while today her offspring, a university professor, cannot.

Don’t we often look at the many events of our lives as big or small interruptions, interrupting many of our plans, projects and life schemes? Don’t we feel an inner protest when a student interrupts our reading, bad weather our summer, illness our well-scheduled plans, the death of a dear friend our peaceful state of mind, a cruel war our ideas about the goodness of man, and the many harsh realities of life our good dreams about it? And doesn’t this unending row of interruptions build in our hearts feelings of anger, frustration and even revenge, so much so that at times we see the real possibility that growing old can become synonymous with growing bitter? But what if our interruptions are in fact our opportunities, if they are challenges to an inner response by which growth takes place and through which we come to the fullness of being?

If you believe that life is scary, untrustworthy, cruel, harsh, and unfair, instead of feeling angry and aggressive, you may feel defeated, powerless, and afraid to face life. Many who find themselves in the grip of addictions feel just this way.

Here is the harsh reality of our precious “stuff:” the more we have, the more it takes from us. It takes our time to clean and maintain it, it takes our money to buy and store it, and it takes a toll on us emotionally when it begins to pile up.

God creates man and woman to cherish their shared equality while complementing their various differences..Most people view marriage as a means of self-fulfillment accompanied by sexual satisfaction..The husband is the head of his wife? Wives should submit to their husbands? Are you serious?.In our limited understanding, we hear [these] words and we recoil in disgust..As soon as we hear the word submission alongside the previous picture of headship, we immediately think in terms of inferiority and superiority, subordination and domination..God made clear from the start that men and women are equal in dignity, value and worth..[submission] means to yield to another in love..The three persons of the Trinity are equally diving..Yet the Son submits to the Father..this doesn't mean that God the Father is dominating and that God the Son is cruelly forced into compulsory subordination. Rather, the Son gladly submits to the Father in the context of close relationship..submission is not a burden to bear..Onlookers will observe a wife joyfully and continually experiencing her husband's sacrificial love for her..the world will realize that following Christ is not a matter of duty. Instead, it is a means to full, eternal, and absolute delight..the first sin occurred..as a response to a gender-specific test..the man sits silently by-- like a wimp..the man has the audacity to blame his wife..the first spineless abdication of a man's responsibility to love, serve, protect, and care for his wife..Sure, through a job a man provide[s] for the physical needs of his wife, but..that same job often prevents him from providing for her spiritual, emotional, and relational needs..He never asks how she feels, and he doesn't know what's going on in her heart. He may think he's a man because of his achievements at work and accomplishments in life, but in reality he's acting like a wimp who has abdicated his most important responsibility on earth: the spiritual leadership of his wife..The work of Satan in Genesis 3 is a foundational attack not just upon humanity in general but specifically upon men, women, and marriage..For husbands will waffle back and forth between abdicating their responsibility to love and abusing their authority to lead. Wives, in response, will distrust such love and defy such leadership. In the process they'll completely undercut how Christ's gracious sacrifice on the cross compels glad submission in the church..Headship is not an opportunity for us to control our wives; it is a responsibility to die for them..[Husbands], don't love our wives based upon what we get from them..Husbands, love your wives not because of who they are, but because of who Christ is. He loves them deeply, and our responsibility is to reflect his love..the Bible is not saying a wife is not guilty for sin in her own life. Yet the Bible is saying a husband is responsible for the spiritual care of his wife. When she struggles with sin, or when they struggle in marriage, he is ultimately responsible..If we are harsh with our wives, we will show the world that Christ is cruel with his people..God's Word is subtly yet clearly pointing out that God has created women with a unique need to be loved and men with a unique need to be respected..Might such a wife be buying into the unbiblical lie that respect is based purely upon performance? So wives, see yourselves in a complementary, not competitive, relationship with your husband..we cannot pick and choose where to obey God.

Harsh realities of hard times hatch hard-liners.

Please do not throw Plato at me. I am a complete skeptic about Plato, and I have never been able to join in the customary scholarly admiration for Plato the artist. The subtlest judges of taste among the ancients themselves are here on my side. Plato, it seems to me, throws all stylistic forms together and is thus a first-rate decadent in style: his responsibility is thus comparable to that of the Cynics, who invented the satura Menippea. To be attracted to the Platonic dialogue, this horribly self-satisfied and childish kind of dialectic, one must never have read good French writers — Fontenelle, for example. Plato is boring. In the end, my mistrust of Plato goes deep: he represents such an aberration from all the basic Greek instincts, is so moralistic, so pseudo-Christian (he already takes the concept of "the good" as the highest concept) that I would prefer the harsh phrase "higher swindle" or, if it sounds better, "idealism" for the whole phenomenon of Plato. We have paid dearly for the fact that this Athenian got his schooling from the Egyptians (or from the Jews in Egypt?). In that great calamity called Christianity, Plato represents that ambiguity and fascination, called an "ideal," which made it possible for the nobler spirits of antiquity to misunderstand themselves and to set foot on the bridge leading to the Cross. And how much Plato there still is in the concept "church," in the construction, system, and practice of the church! My recreation, my preference, my cure from all Platonism has always been Thucydides. Thucydides and, perhaps, Machiavelli's Il Principe are most closely related to me by the unconditional will not to delude oneself, but to see reason in reality — not in "reason," still less in "morality." For that wretched distortion of the Greeks into a cultural ideal, which the "classically educated" youth carries into life as a reward for all his classroom lessons, there is no more complete cure than Thucydides. One must follow him line by line and read no less clearly between the lines: there are few thinkers who say so much between the lines. With him the culture of the Sophists, by which I mean the culture of the realists, reaches its perfect expression — this inestimable movement amid the moralistic and idealistic swindle set loose on all sides by the Socratic schools. Greek philosophy: the decadence of the Greek instinct. Thucydides: the great sum, the last revelation of that strong, severe, hard factuality which was instinctive with the older Greeks. In the end, it is courage in the face of reality that distinguishes a man like Thucydides from a man like Plato: Plato is a coward before reality, consequently he flees into the ideal; Thucydides has control of himself, consequently he also maintains control of things.

Correct Overestimated Feedback Fears One of the reasons anxious people fear feedback is that they tend to judge their performance more harshly than others judge them. If you’re feeling anxious, you’ll probably overestimate the likelihood that any feedback you’ll get will be negative—the negative predictions thinking error. Let’s say you need to get feedback on your delivery of an upcoming presentation. You fear that you’ll get crucified, that people will say your presentation style is horrible and won’t say anything nice. How likely does this feared outcome feel? You might say, “It feels 99% likely.” How likely is it in reality? You think, “Objectively, maybe 50%?” Your answer of 50% may still be an overestimate, but at least it jump-starts the shift in your thinking. It alters you that your anxious feelings are, to some extent, clouding your perceptions. Although it seems strange that people can shift their thinking just based on whether they are asked to think with their anxious mind or their objective mind, this isn’t as far-fetched as it sounds. There’s lots of research evidence that people’s thinking changes based on how they’re asked to think about something. For example, my own doctoral research asked people in relationships how their judgments of their romantic partner compared to reality. People recognized that they tended to view their partners more positively than warranted by reality. Experiment: Think of a current area in your life where feedback would be useful to you, but you’re avoiding it. Ask yourself two questions (answer using a percentage, as shown in the example): --How likely does it feel that I’m going to get very negative feedback? --How likely is it in reality?

You will be crumpled by people around you, hit hard by the harsh realities of life and stamped by your weakness: but even then if you keep the fire of hope burning in your heart, if you believe in your ideas, if you go ahead challenging the tragedies that befell you, if you trust your skills and if you try working hard day and night to make your dreams come true, people will value you.

Childhood is an age of innocence, Rousseau argued, an important sanctuary in the life of all human beings before the harsh realities and perils of adulthood are encountered. He believed this time of innocence should be protected at all costs.

Only the nightmares from our dreams come true.

Chairs are a functioning reprieve from the harsh realities of the world, and they often give us tickets to see it in all its beauty and problems, because no one place is perfect - but it is nice to be in places that come close.

What was life after all, but a constant battle between our hopes and harsh reality?

Sacraments and the rituals surrounding them are not harsh burdens placed on humans by God—rather, they are manifestations of God’s abundant grace. To put it simply, the sacraments are not for God; they are for us. Sacramental worship exhibits a deep understanding of our nature as human beings: our dependence on the senses, on food and water for sustenance, our need for tangible signs. What better way for God to supply us with sanctifying grace than through these signs made alive? In contrast to the onerous rites of the Old Testament, which signified a divine reality without actually transmitting it, the Christian sacraments are signs that effect what they signify. We can discern, in a shadowy, inchoate form, the body of Christ’s church in the people of Israel, just as we can see in Israel’s sacrificial worship an anticipation of our sacramental worship—but the sacraments, as extensions of the Incarnation, are not just symbols. They are alive with Christ’s power, which is Life itself. To quote Vonier once more: “Sacraments are, then, truly an energy that comes from Christ in person, a radiation from the charity of the Cross; a stream of grace from the pierced side of Christ.

Noone gives u anything unless they thought of getting something back in return... That is the harsh reality.

What will other people think? It reflects the human yearning for belonging versus the imagined harsh reactions of the world. But in reality, people care much less than you think, and that’s the naked truth.

WhatsApp info:+12723  328 343 Telegram info: h t t p s:// t.me/ adware recovery specialist1 Website info: http s:// adware recovery specialist. com  Email info: Adware recovery specialist (@)auctioneer. net  Online dating scams are a harsh reality, and I recently found myself as the victim of one that cost me $6,500. It all started when I connected with someone on Grindr, a dating app I was using to meet new people. The person, who I’ll refer to as “my partner,” seemed like everything I was looking for. Our conversations were engaging and full of promises of a future together. As we communicated more, the bond between us deepened, and I began to believe that this person was genuinely interested in me. He shared stories about his life some were personal, others more vulnerable, but all of them seemed to build trust. It was clear he was going through tough times, including a financial emergency he claimed to be facing. He told me he had no one else to turn to, and it seemed like a heartfelt request. I didn’t hesitate. Over the course of a few weeks, I ended up sending him a total of $6,500 to help with his situation, convinced that he was in genuine need and would eventually pay me back once things improved. However, as time passed, things started to feel off. He began avoiding video calls, and every time I asked for a face-to-face meeting, he made excuses. The financial requests kept coming, with new reasons each time. The inconsistencies in his stories grew more apparent, and a sinking feeling in my stomach told me that something wasn’t right. I eventually realized I had been scammed. Devastated by the situation, I knew I needed to take action. I contacted ADWARE RECOVERY SPECIALIST , hoping they could help me get back what I had lost. The team at  ADWARE RECOVERY SPECIALIST  was quick to respond. They investigated the situation, traced the scammer’s details, and worked diligently to recover my funds. Thanks to their efforts, I was able to get back all $6,500 that I had sent. This experience was not just financially damaging but emotionally painful as well. It was hard to come to terms with the fact that someone I had trusted could deceive me so easily. The lesson I learned is that scams like this are more common than I realized, and online dating platforms like Grindr can sometimes be dangerous. If something feels off, trust your instincts. I urge anyone using these apps to be cautious, especially when money is involved. I’m incredibly grateful for the help I received from ADWARE RECOVERY SPECIALIST, and I’m sharing my story so others don’t fall into the same trap.

That hope for the future and the warmth of her constant dream of freedom got her past all the depression. But the parole office was that future. It was the harsh reality of getting out. And it was squalid and crowded and inhuman. It smelled of desperation and lost hope, of no future. Most of those surrounding her wouldn’t make it. One by one they would go back. It was a fact of the life they had chosen. Few went straight, few made it out alive. And for Cassie, who promised herself she would be one of the few, the monthly immersion into this world always left her profoundly depressed.

Life outside the bounds of literature was harsh and abusive, but books offered living thought, and feeling, and learning. It was impossible to bridge these two realms, and he retreated farther and farther into literature. Only the children he taught could make the nauseating reality outside of books bearable.

Growing up is a harsh reality of life, and the moment one grows up is often marked with cruelty.

AI won’t take your jobs’ is the biggest lie since ‘money can’t buy happiness

Dreaming is my one and only escape from the harsh reality of my life. My dreams are the only place where my anxiety doesn’t control me, and my mind is free to do whatever the hell it likes, never worrying or stressing about what will happen next.

As Carl Jung put it, “Man needs difficulties. They are necessary for health.” Yet most people instinctually avoid pain. This is true whether we are talking about building the body (e.g., weight lifting) or the mind (e.g., frustration, mental struggle, embarrassment, shame)—and especially true when people confront the harsh reality of their own imperfections.

Yes. True strength does not come out of bravado. Until we are broken, our life will be self-centered, self-reliant; our strength will be our own. So long as you think you are really something in and of yourself, what will you need God for? I don’t trust a man who hasn’t suffered; I don’t let a man get close to me who hasn’t faced his wound. Think of the posers you know—are they the kind of man you would call at 2:00 a.m., when life is collapsing around you? Not me. I don’t want clichés; I want deep, soulful truth, and that only comes when a man has walked the road I’ve been talking about. As Buechner said, To do for yourself the best that you have it in you to do—to grit your teeth and clench your fists in order to survive the world at its harshest and worst—is, by that very act, to be unable to let something be done for you and in you that is more wonderful still. The trouble with steeling yourself against the harshness of reality is that the same steel that secures your life against being destroyed secures your life also against being opened up and transformed.19

There are people who enter a place, and suddenly, it lights up. It's not about their beautiful smiles, but as if the sun itself lives in them, radiating and making you feel happy in their company. And the most fascinating thing about them is that you don't need to take anything from them. It's just sun. Their inner light guides their path, giving them strength & support to move forward. They often look fragile, as if the harsh wind could blow them off, like a candle. But if they were to perish, the world would drown in darkness. It would suddenly awake from a sweet dream filled with beauty, only to find itself facing a harsh, unsightly reality. They are the people of the sun, with their unshakeable core and unconquerable spirit, guided by their inner covenant and principles that shape them. They walk through life as if they know that no harm can truly befall them, because their existence itself a necessity. They seem to belong to the eternal, primordial lineage of souls that withstood the test since time immemorial. They were, and they will remain so that the world may never awaken into eternal darkness.

Life has never been easy for my family and me. We have had to work tirelessly to make ends meet, constantly striving for a better tomorrow. As I navigated the complexities of providing for my loved ones, I couldn't help but notice the countless success stories of individuals who had achieved financial freedom through the world of bitcoin. The promise of exponential returns and the potential to live a more comfortable life was too enticing to resist. Intending to secure a brighter future for myself and my family, I decided to invest in Bitcoin. I poured my hard-earned money into what I believed was a legitimate opportunity, hoping to reap substantial rewards. However, my dreams were short-lived, as I soon found myself falling victim to a fraudulent company. The harsh reality of being scammed was devastating, and I felt as though all my efforts had been for naught. In the midst of this chaos, I was on the verge of losing hope. It seemed as though my financial struggles would never subside, and the thought of not being able to provide for my family was unbearable. Nevertheless, I refused to give up. I began to explore options for recovering my stolen bitcoin, and that's when I stumbled upon Techy Force Cyber Retrieval. This reputable company specializes in retrieving stolen digital assets, and they were my saving grace. Through their expertise and diligent efforts, I was able to recover my stolen bitcoin. The feeling of relief and gratitude that washed over me was indescribable. For the first time in a long while, I felt a sense of hope and reassurance that a better life was within reach. I am eternally thankful to Techy Force Cyber Retrieval for their assistance in retrieving my stolen assets. Their professionalism and commitment to their craft are truly commendable, and I would highly recommend their services to anyone who has fallen victim to similar scams. In retrospect, my experience has taught me the importance of vigilance and caution when navigating the world of cryptocurrency. While the promise of easy wealth can be enticing, it's essential to approach such opportunities with a critical eye and to conduct thorough research before investing. Nevertheless, I am grateful for the lessons learned and the opportunity to rebuild and start anew. W.h.a.t.s.A.p.p. T.h.e.m +.1.5.6.1.7.2.6.3.6.9.7 Or W.e.b.s.i.t.e t.e.c.h.y f.o.r.c.e c.y.b.e.r r.e.t.r.i.e.v.a.l . c.o.m Thanks to Techy Force Cyber Retrieval, I can now focus on creating a brighter future for myself and my family, and for that, I am truly grateful.

Most of the time it was because I had trouble identifying what I actually needed. It’s hard to ask for help when you don’t know what you need. Sometimes it was because I found it too difficult to be vulnerable about my grief and the harsh realities of the life I’d been left with. It was hard for me to verbalize that I was broken and messy and in desperate need of help and support.

SECURING YOUR DIGITAL ASSETS: THE ESSENTIAL GUIDE TO LEGITIMATE CRYPTO RECOVERY SERVICE - FUNDS RETRIEVER ENGINEER I encountered Wilson on a travel photography forum a vibrant space where enthusiasts share their passion for capturing the world through their lenses. From the outset Wilson intrigued me not only because of his breathtaking travel photographs but also due to his magnetic and adventurous demeanor. He was articulate confident and seemed to embrace life with an unyielding spirit. Our connection was immediate as we bonded over a mutual love for exploration and visual storytelling. As weeks evolved into months Wilson and I developed a closer rapport. His conversations extended beyond photography to include his ventures into cryptocurrency investments. Wilson described a private token project he was involved with portraying it as a unique opportunity yielding extraordinary returns. He introduced me to a platform called GROWINVEST explaining that it was where the project was managed and where I could track our investment. His knowledge was impressive and his confidence compelling which inspired my trust. When he proposed I invest alongside him in this exclusive initiative I felt assured following his guidance. Placing trust in him felt instinctive. After all Wilson was someone I had confided in over months someone who had unveiled parts of his life to me. Without hesitation I transferred two hundred forty thousand dollars my entire savings into what I believed was a legitimate collective investment managed through GROWINVEST .My messages went unanswered no updates arrived. The GROWINVEST website he introduced me to abruptly went offline. The harsh reality dawned upon me I had fallen victim to a deceitful scheme orchestrated by someone I trusted. I was shattered not only financially but emotionally as well. I felt betrayed isolated and vulnerable. Unsure where to turn I eventually discovered FUNDS RETRIEVER ENGINEER. Their team handled my case with professionalism and urgency. Employing Crypto forensics they meticulously traced the flow of my funds identified the fraudulent wallet network and collaborated with an international exchange to initiate legal proceedings. Within a mere two weeks they successfully recovered one hundred sixty two thousand dollars. I did not reclaim the entirety of my investment I regained control and a renewed sense of hope. I lost Wilson’s trust but found FUNDS RETRIEVER ENGINEER that recovered my funds. For help W H A T S A P P: +1 8 0 2 9 5 2 3 4 7 0 EmaIL F U N D S R E T R I E V E R [@] E N G I N E E R. C O M OR S U P P O R T @ F U N D S R E T R I E V E R [@] E N G I N E E R. C O M