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self-mastery journal

battles are lost in the same spirit with which they are won.

I cried last week. I do it a lot nowadays.

Something triggers a sad cry: for Jeremy, for my guilt, for life’s vanity. Then out of nowhere I transition to a hysterical laugh-cry: for the love for everything, for being alive, for the big cosmic joke that is life.

Strangely, I don’t prefer one mode of crying over another. They’re both beautiful and cathartic in their own ways.

Walt Whitman once wrote that battles are lost in the same spirit with which they are won.

I think I get what he means now.