There is no glory in victory in the battle with the self. No trumpets, or fanfare. Silence hangs in the air like ice on the deck of a boat - a boat littered with parts of you that had to be removed. Growths that constrained you, nearly consumed you, limitations of your own creation. And as you, the sole survivor, sit on the deck of that ship at dawn you feel a gentle light creep over the horizon, touching your face as if bringing color to a statue. You gaze at it knowingly, stoic. And then you get up, and you keep rowing. Because there is no break, there never will be. Not until you're dead. So keep those eyes locked dead ahead and go. through. the. motions. Move into resistance, do what you know you should do, and when you reach calm waters you will be strong. Don't bother thinking, you already know what to do. The mind fears progress as much as regress, as change is change.
So remember that you will die, and that the ultimate change is real, it's guaranteed. Make peace with it now, and count down from 5.
