There are times when I dreamily recall where I have been and what I have done. I am frankly astounded by the fortuity. There obviously is no merit to the perverse suggestion that anything other than chance is in control. I am inclined to think that apart from those whose destiny is alleged to be completely predictable (admittedly a narrow if not entirely illegitimate vernacular) we all share the possibility of being jubilant about what life offers. I have yet to endure the affront of my gusto overtaken by remorse or other perishing prejudice - even though there are occasionally instances of reduced avidity. My dismissal of the conundrum is that disparagement achieves nothing either helpful or improving.
Yet the absorption of positive thinking is not always purely logical. The reality of mind and body is that the impenetrable dichotomy does at times suffer uncontrollable inconsolability. As prepared as I am to accept the momentary abuse of depression, I do however rebel against grim persistence. The debilitating recollections of the past or the incomprehensible fear of the future will never I trust triumph over my hope for a reassuring outcome.