What if the day you “finally get everything under control” is the day you’re dead?
What If the chaos and stress of life are the whole point?
What if our ability to cope and maneuver and scheme and plan and love and work are when we are at our best?
Maybe, just maybe, the point at which the shit is hitting the proverbial fan is the moment when we are the most alive.
Maybe THAT’S the fucking point.
Maybe we should stop thinking about stress like it’s something to be avoided and realize that’s where the fun is.