You go out into the day hoping that the world likes you as you like it. You wish all well, and the sun is shining, or not, but still there is ample reason to shake joy and gratitude from the very breath, from the air itself, the movement of wheels on pavement, the little happy routines.
And then, somehow, you are slapped upside the head by someone in need of shaking off a little meanness. There’s always someone seething with anger at the world and anyone with the audacity to believe. The holy ones will slap you with a shovelful of shame, just where you thought maybe you’d done some good.
Instead, it now is made clear. You are unacceptable. The who of you, the way of you. You haven’t measured up. You are not wanted. They will not let you in.
They do not care if you live or die. They prefer you not thrive.
And so it goes, day by day in this great orphanage we call home.
The Agony of Victory 