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- Марк Мэнсон
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- Тонкое искусство пофигизма
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- Стр. 114/115
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Looking
back
on
that
night
,
out
by
that
lake
,
when
I
watched
my
friend
Josh
’
s
body
getting
fished
out
of
the
lake
by
paramedics
.
I
remember
staring
into
the
black
Texas
night
and
watching
my
ego
slowly
dissolve
into
it
.
Josh
’
s
death
taught
me
much
more
than
I
initially
realized
.
Yes
,
it
helped
me
to
seize
the
day
,
to
take
responsibility
for
my
choices
,
and
to
pursue
my
dreams
with
less
shame
and
inhibition
.
But
these
were
side
effects
of
a
deeper
,
more
primary
lesson
.
And
the
primary
lesson
was
this
:
there
is
nothing
to
be
afraid
of
.
Ever
.
And
reminding
myself
of
my
own
death
repeatedly
over
the
years
—
whether
it
be
through
meditation
,
through
reading
philosophy
,
or
through
doing
crazy
shit
like
standing
on
a
cliff
in
South
Africa
—
is
the
only
thing
that
has
helped
me
hold
this
realization
front
and
center
in
my
mind
.
This
acceptance
of
my
death
,
this
understanding
of
my
own
fragility
,
has
made
everything
easier
—
untangling
my
addictions
,
identifying
and
confronting
my
own
entitlement
,
accepting
responsibility
for
my
own
problems
—
suffering
through
my
fears
and
uncertainties
,
accepting
my
failures
and
embracing
rejections
—
it
has
all
been
made
lighter
by
the
thought
of
my
own
death
.
The
more
I
peer
into
the
darkness
,
the
brighter
life
gets
,
the
quieter
the
world
becomes
,
and
the
less
unconscious
resistance
I
feel
to
,
well
,
anything
.
I
sit
there
on
the
Cape
for
a
few
minutes
,
taking
in
everything
.
When
I
finally
decide
to
get
up
,
I
put
my
hands
behind
me
and
scoot
back
.
Then
,
slowly
,
I
stand
.
I
check
the
ground
around
me
—
making
sure
there
’
s
no
errant
rock
ready
to
sabotage
me
.
Having
recognized
that
I
am
safe
,
I
begin
to
walk
back
to
reality
—
five
feet
,
ten
feet
—
my
body
restoring
itself
with
each
step
My
feet
become
lighter
.
I
let
life
’
s
magnet
draw
me
in
.
As
I
step
back
over
some
rocks
,
back
to
the
main
path
,
I
look
up
to
see
a
man
staring
at
me
.
I
stop
and
make
eye
contact
with
him
.
“
Um
.
I
saw
you
sitting
on
the
edge
over
there
,
”
he
says
.
His
accent
is
Australian
.
The
word
“
there
”
rolls
out
of
his
mouth
awkwardly
.
He
points
toward
Antarctica
.
“
Yeah
.
The
view
is
gorgeous
,
isn
’
t
it
?
”
I
am
smiling
.
He
is
not
.
He
has
a
serious
look
on
his
face
.
I
brush
my
hands
off
on
my
shorts
,
my
body
still
buzzing
from
my
surrender
.
There
’
s
an
awkward
silence
.
The
Aussie
stands
for
a
moment
,
perplexed
,
still
looking
at
me
,
clearly
thinking
of
what
to
say
next
.
After
a
moment
,
he
carefully
pieces
the
words
together
.
