...becoming conditions birth, which conditions aging and death.
Life becomes a succession of mini-births and mini-deaths. When I achieve what I want, I feel reborn. But no sooner have I settled into this feeling than the old anxieties resurface. The new possession swiftly ages as it is diminished by the allure of something more desirable that I do not have. What seemed perfect is abruptly compromised by alarming glimpses of its imperfections. Instead of solving my problems, this new situation replaces them with others I had never thought suspected. Yet rather than accepting this as the nature of living in an unreliable world, rather than learning to be content with success and joy and not to be overwhelmed by failure and pain, rather than appreciating life's poignant, tragic and sad beauty, I grit my teethe and struggle on in thrall to that quiet, seductive voice that whispers: “If only...”
an excerpt from:
Buddhism without Beliefs Stephen Batchelor