The Conditions of Will

by Jessa Hastings

But the idea of death, when we look at it square in the eye, it unsettles us all. The idea that it ends—that it all ends—that everything you spend your life doing and building toward one day amounts to actually nothing the second you take your last breath.

It was this almost otherworldly feeling, where you’re so small, but not in a way that’s degrading or upsetting, but the fact that you’re on the planet at the same time as something so big and so significant, I don’t know—it was strangely life-affirming? Like you’re not alone in the world.

Contempt is funny like that. You can be resentful of something, hateful even—and still be jealous of it.

You survive whatever you need to, however you can.

Wondering and questioning why things are the way they are, not accepting the present and permanent—they’re all really solid ways to slow down progress.

The nicest thing you can ever do for another human being is see them, and really see them, at that. To be understood is one of most base desires we as people have,

And I think to myself, wouldn’t it be so lovely if we viewed ourselves through the same lens as the people who love us?