I’m realizing that living is a very rare thing. Most people exist and that is all. I’ve lived a lot of life and have met a lot of people. Some of the happiest and most fulfilled people & some of the most depressed and lost people. Living is a mental state of choice. We choose to live. To be grateful. To enjoy the simple mundane things. To romanticize your everyday routines and spice things up a bit. Take a different way home, try a new recipe, start a new hobby, be the first to chat with someone, etc. You either see endings, or within them new beginnings. You either see that you’re living in the days your younger self once dreamt of, or that you’re still waiting on someday more. You either see a storm that came to disrupt your path, or one that corrected your course. You either see the hours as long and thankless, or life as brief and precious. You either see the mysterious unknown, or an endless realm of possibility. There is what we experience, and then there is the story we tell ourselves about it. Over time, that story becomes the truth we carry, as the other details fade in the distance. Over time, how we write the story determines how we experience it in reality.