Excerpt About Job
It seems to me that five years of real living is worth eighty years, a thousand years of a fake life. What’s the point of that fake life? Feeling scared and running for security or comfort, wanting somebody to pat us on the back, trying to get society to think we're wonderful—what's that all about? You might answer, “Well, I'm scared. I can't do it. I'm weak.” Would you rather live like a scared little mouse so that somebody doesn't reject you or you don't lose a job? Is it really worth living even one hour without self-respect? Is it worth letting people attack you and not speaking up because you're afraid you're going to end up alone? Is that the kind of person you want to be? Is it really better for people to love you when inside you feel fake? Or is it better that people don't love you but you are content with your own actions? Which one is more important? Which one is more valuable?