The Price of Existence is Eternal Warfare

Embracing the Struggle for Growth

The Price of Existence is Eternal Warfare.

I first heard these words as a teenager. For reasons I couldn’t explain, they lodged themselves deep in my mind. I didn’t fully understand their meaning, but something in me already knew they were true. My unconscious accepted them as law.

As I moved through life—or, perhaps more accurately, as life dragged me along—the wisdom hidden in those words began to reveal itself. Back then, I was a wild teenager, hungry for knowledge, eager to experience everything. I was high on life’s possibilities. I thought I knew everything. But I didn’t. That’s the beauty of youthful ignorance. It’s blissful because the full tragedy of life hasn’t yet been unveiled. But it’s also fragile because it’s destined to shatter.

At that age, I felt like a god. Fearless. Untouchable. Armed with my own self-made philosophy, I smashed old paradigms and declared war on everything “traditional.” I saw myself as a modern Prometheus, a student of forbidden knowledge. The New was coming, and I was its herald. I despised the Old.

“The Price of Existence is Eternal Warfare.” I tattooed those words on my arm, a permanent reminder of something I didn’t yet understand. What was I trying to remember? I’m not sure. But even then, I had a feeling that war wasn’t always a bad thing.

Now, a quarter of a century later, the depth of that sentence still amazes me. If I could send one message to my younger self, it would be this. It’s the essence of human existence. Life is warfare. Not a battle that ends. Not a single victory or loss. It’s constant. Eternal. We all know it on some level. It’s Darwin’s “survival of the fittest” in action. Adapt or perish. Strength isn’t just useful—it’s essential. When you’re strong, obstacles shrink. Possibilities expand. You see life’s full spectrum, you crush inner demons, and you’re willing to suffer because you understand that suffering is the price of progress.

We’re born into suffering. Our first act as humans is to cry. And when our time is up, we die. Everyone you know will die. Modern life tries to hide this from us. We’re kept in sterile bubbles, cruising through sanitized shopping malls, distracted by shiny things, hoping to buy happiness. But life isn’t a shopping spree. It’s warfare. It’s struggle. And only through struggle do we grow.

The battle isn’t external—it’s internal. It’s a war against yourself. No need to kill or destroy anyone else. The enemy lives in your mind. And this is where true freedom is found. Human beings need to struggle. We need to surpass ourselves, go beyond who we were yesterday, or we’ll rot in mediocrity. This law is eternal. It’s why you feel so good after conquering a difficult task. Imagine a cold, rainy day. You’re tired. Your mind says, “Stay on the sofa. Order pizza.” But you go for a run instead. When you get back, soaking wet and breathless, you’re filled with something no money can buy: pride. Victory. That’s the feeling of a battle won.

We’re wired to avoid conflict. We seek comfort, predictability, and the familiar. But conflict is always there, whether we acknowledge it or not. There’s a war raging in your mind right now. Competing voices battle for control. One voice whispers, “Take it easy. You’re tired. Rest.” Another says, “You’re stronger than this. Get up. Keep going.” We’ve all heard these voices. And if you’ve ever forced yourself to the gym on a day you didn’t feel like it, you’ve experienced the result. I’ve been going to the gym for over twenty years, and not once—not once—have I ever regretted a workout. No one does.

Since childhood, I’ve had a deep-seated fear of water. Not just discomfort—fear. The idea of being in deep water terrified me. Even at a swimming pool under the supervision of an instructor, I wouldn’t go near the deep end. But for some reason, I’d always dreamed of scuba diving—arguably the most extreme form of swimming.

A friend of mine, a diving instructor, offered to teach me. He promised to show me a world beneath the waves. The first step was simple: breathe through the mouthpiece of the tank. But I couldn’t do it. I sat there, in a shallow pool, unable to breathe. Anxiety gripped me. My mind told me, “This isn’t for you. Give up. It’s not your thing.” But another voice—quieter, but persistent—said, “If everyone else can do it, you can too.”

I failed. Again and again, I failed. But I kept coming back. Over and over. Until, one day, I succeeded. Today, I’m a certified diver. I can dive to depths of over 50 meters. I’ve seen shipwrecks and underwater caves. I’ve jumped into the open sea, waves crashing all around, and felt only joy. The deeper, the better. I’m not afraid of the water anymore—I crave it. It’s one of my favorite experiences on earth.

I could’ve quit. I almost did. But I’d never have known the thrill of underwater exploration. I’d have missed one of the great joys of my life. Instead, I kept going. I failed, failed, and failed again—until I won. And that victory tasted sweeter than anything I’d ever known.

Thomas Edison failed over 2,000 times before inventing the light bulb. If he’d stopped at 1,999, we’d be in darkness. The story of human history is written by people who fought wars—not just external wars, but internal ones. They fought themselves. Their fears. Their doubts. Their weakness. And they won. Not because they were special. Not because they were born with “grit” or “resilience.” They won because they fought longer than anyone else.

The Price of Existence is Eternal Warfare. I’ve come to see it as the most fundamental truth of life.

If you’re reading this, hear me clearly: keep trying. Keep failing. Never give up. If you’re knocked down, get back up. Fight again. The taste of victory is worth it. I promise you that. You have my word.

And you have my love.

PayPal donations: rezowiecki@gmail.com