Our mythologies are populated by heroes who had visions and fought for them to death. Life, defined in these terms, is a struggle to fulfill plans; we are trying all the time to make reality fit the paths we have traced in our heads. When events happen in ways contrary to our druthers and we are forced to change our plans, we suffer. The erosion of the blueprints we have arbitrarily constructed is a major source of anguish.

I turn around and trace my circumstances backwards; every event fits nicely in the puzzle. Every inevitable part of what constitutes my past plays a coherent roll in the story of my life. It is a smooth surface where everything that has happen makes sense within the big picture.

The view of the future I just presented is inconsistent with the one of my past. The former is full of chaos, stress, decisions to be made and battles to be fought; the later is harmonious, simple and complete.

I think about the goals I had years ago, they seem trivial, naïve and childish and yet, at their time, they felt crucial. All things that made me suffer in the past were just my own creation; their source invariably has been my stubbornness to try to make the events around me fit to my plans.

I stop resisting the ceaseless stream of events I call life; I know that tomorrow all my present struggles will just be futile, caused by my ignorance to see why my plans are incompatible with my circumstances.