There once was a child, blonde hair, short straight nose, broad shoulders, tough demeanour, who more enjoyed experiencing the abnormalities of life rather than the good that was present. This caused deep self-understanding and patience. However, with this also came understanding of our desires. Of our wants. Why go after anything? Why try when all that can be done can be experienced with our imagination. For utter attention to the result removes the quality and the purpose of the journey. One may say I'm intelligent for thinking of such things, when in truth while I was thinking my family were waiting for me, my loved ones caring, worrying. Why must experiencing my self-desire be a prerequisite to learning gratitude. Why must I defeat myself to have enough guts to stand up to who I see in the mirror?