I have discovered that in every language and every country I have visited, there are no new stories. They’re recycled. The same stressful thoughts arise in each mind one way or another, sooner or later.
I just read that in Byron Katie’s book Loving What Is.
And it’s a bit peaceful, actually, when in the midst of a deeply depressing thought, or moment, or day, or year (as the case may be), to know that nothing I am thinking or feeling is new. Someone somewhere has already lived through the turmoil, has fought through the pain, has found a way through the suffering.
If they can do it, so can I. And so can you.