There are many things in this crazy life which I cannot control.
The reality of how little control I actually have is somewhat humbling, and perhaps at times frightening.
I cannot control my mortality. It is what it is, I am a finite being. I will die one day. That reality is at times frightening.
I cannot control how vulnerable I am to pain and suffering. It is what it is. I am a vulnerable being. Vulnerable to an entire host of means of pain and suffering. That reality is at times frightening.
It seems that the only aspect of this crazy life which I can actually control is me. And sometimes I seem to be beyond my own reach.
Yet it does seem reasonable to accept the reality that I am seemingly the artisan of my own character. At least in terms of mood and manner.
Kindness and compassion are qualities of character which seem to always be available and attainable. I do not always choose to exercise such, yet that is a matter of choice. I cannot claim kindness and compassion to be beyond my control.
At least there is that much that I can control in this crazy life.