Mark Manson - The Subtle Art of Not Giving a F__k (2016, HarperOne) - libgen.li

the earth, where water meets the sky, blue on blue. The wind screams across
my skin. I look up. It’s bright. It’s beautiful.
I’m at South Africa’s Cape of Good Hope, once thought to be the southern
tip of Africa and the southernmost point in the world. It’s a tumultuous place,
a place full of storms and treacherous waters. A place that’s seen centuries of
trade and commerce and human endeavor. A place, ironically, of lost hopes.
There is a saying in Portuguese: Ele dobra o Cabo da BBoa Esperança. It
means, “He’s rounding the Cape of Good Hope.” Ironically, it means that the
person’s life is in its final phase, that he’s incapable of accomplishing
anything more.
I step across the rocks toward the blue, allowing its vastness to engulf my
field of vision. I’m sweating yet cold. Excited yet nervous. Is this it?
The wind is slapping my ears. I hear nothing, but I see the edge: where
the rock meets oblivion. I stop and stand for a moment, several yards away. I
can see the ocean below, lapping and frothing against cliffs stretching out for
miles to either side. The tides are furious against the impenetrable walls.
Straight ahead, it’s a sheer drop of at least fifty yards to the water below.
To my right, tourists are dotted across the landscape below, snapping
photos and aggregating themselves into antlike formations. To my left is Asia.
In front of me is the sky and behind is me is everything I’ve ever hoped for
and brought with me.
What if this is it? What if this is all there is?
I look around. I’m alone. I take my first step toward the edge of the cliff.
The human body seems to come equipped with a natural radar for deathinducing
situations. For example, the moment you get within about ten feet of
a cliff edge, minus guardrail, a certain tension digs into your body. Your back
stiffens. Your skin ripples. Your eyes become hyperfocused on every detail
of your environment. Your feet feel as though they’re made of rock. It’s as if
there were a big, invisible magnet gently pulling your body back to safety.
But I fight the magnet. I drag the feet made of rock closer to the edge.
At five feet away, your mind joins the party. You can now see not only the
edge of the cliff, but down the cliff face itself, which induces all sorts of
unwanted visualizations of tripping and falling and tumbling to a splashy
death. It’s really fucking far, your mind reminds you. Like, really fucking far.
Dude, what are you doing? Stop moving. Stop it.
I tell my mind to shut up, and keep inching forward.