I believe in three things: reason, passion, and chocolate. And I’m all out of chocolate. So I began pondering my little struggle. Here’s what I thought.

Every life has a Great Struggle. A struggle that defines how—and whether—that life will reach fulfillment. Struggling well—facing, embracing, and overcoming one’s struggle—and struggling poorly—escaping, replacing, and ignoring one’s struggle—is one of the greatest and most necessary disciplines that we must master if we are to live, prosper, and blossom. For the truth is that if we don’t overcome our struggles, you know and I know: we will probably end up trapped in lives that feel like bitter and desperate failures, futile, meaningless, diminished.

And yet, we don’t often consider how to struggle well. We’re taught to strategize and dominate, subjugate and persuade, to trick and to force—but these are often worse than useless when it comes to struggling well. The truth is that these notions teach us to struggle poorly, not well. They make the least of us, at precisely the very times when weary, frustrated, faltering, we must discover how to make the most of us.

Here, then, are my top three rules for struggling well.

Don’t look down. Look up. Our first instinct, when we struggle, is to fight. Our impulses kick in, and we think: to compete is simply to drag other people down—to defeat, conquer, and smash our rivals, foes, adversaries. And so, when we struggle, we often begin to look down on other people. But dragging people down is not going to lift you up. You can vanquish all your adversaries—and still struggle. But a struggle is not a fight between. It is a challenge to. You. To better yourself. Do you see the difference? They are not the same thing at all; bettering yourself, and kicking others to the ground. To struggle well, you must look up to, not down on. To great people, ideas, places, books, art…for in all those are contained the levers which will elevate you.

Climb the mountain. Our second instinct, when we struggle, is to find a way out—and if we can’t find a way, to find a way through. Struggle is suffering. Pain. And the ego always wants to escape the merest hint of pain. So we run and flee. We hide and ignore. Through escapism and denial, we seek to alleviate the wearying burdens of struggle. Yet, there the struggle remains; and there it grows. The hard truth is this: our instincts impel us to minimize our struggles. But sometimes we must struggle more if we are to overcome.

We see a great mountain before us. And perhaps we think it is easier to rest in the green valley before it. Why climb it? The valley is tranquil and calm. Perhaps, after a time, we pluck up our nerve, and cleverly search for passes that straddle it, caves that tunnel through it, paths that wind around it. Perhaps we grit our teeth, and grimly detonate our way across it, or slowly, laboriously, blow by blow, tunnel our way past it.

And though we may succeed, the truth is this. The mountain is only truly conquered when we climb it. What is the difference between climbing the mountain and finding a clever way around it? Everything. Struggling well isn’t merely discovering how to extricate one’s self from one’s struggle—nor is it merely living desperately through one’s struggle. It is overcoming one’s struggle: the decision to strat dreaming, imagining, wondering, hoping, falling, rising, growing…becoming. Extrication is an act of competence, perfection, and execution; but overcoming is different: it is an act of uncertain rebellion, imperfect imagination and defiant self-creation. For it is only the act of overcoming our struggle, through imagination, defiance, rebellion, and risk, that we begin to reach the limits of our potential.

Accept the gift. It’s not that struggle will, by hardening you, turn you into a Nietzschean super being—devoid of emotion, immune to pain. It’s quite the opposite. Struggle will turn you into you. The you that you were meant to be, at your truest, deepest, noblest. There are great arts in living; and there are small arts. The small arts are the ones we’re taught: time management, communication, discipline, and the like. But the great arts? The great arts are different—not just in impact, but in origin. Empathy, inspiration, courage, wisdom, compassion, honesty, resourcefulness, creativity. These are the things that separate a truly great life from a mediocre one. The paradox is this. The great arts cannot be taught—and yet they must be learned. So how do we master them? When we stand atop our mountains. It is struggle that teaches us how to be ourselves. For the truth is that only you, standing naked, as you truly are, can climb your mountain.

We will all struggle. It doesn’t matter how fortunate we are, or how noble our births. Great riches and fortunate births are no vaccines against struggle. True fortune is a life wise enough to accept its great struggle. And true nobility is a heart that meets it like a brother. Our struggles are just as unique as our lives. And so it is in them that we discover meaning in our happiness, and happiness in our instants of meaning. Here is the truth: without facing our struggles, every happiness will remain meaningless, and the meaning of our lives will never make us happy.

When we struggle, what are we struggling for? We must always remember: though we often think so, we are never truly struggling for money, power, lovers, fame. We are struggling, in the final truth, to become ourselves — people worthy of the existential privilege of the small, vast debt of life we have been granted by destiny.

It’s true. We might never conquer our struggles. And yet we must, with every last breath we take, try, and try again. They may stymie and thwart and beset us—but we must never let them defeat us. They truly defeat us when they make us small, mean, grasping people. And we truly conquer them when we grow into greatness. That is why they are here. And that is why we are, too.

Breathe. Look up. See the mountain. Accept the gift.