The independence of the 'I' as it is discovered by the developing brain in childhood seems to be the very secret of happiness. But this 'I' is not something in itself, it is a feeling of power, freedom, infinite possibility that is deeply rooted in the world in which it finds itself. It is not a goal but a starting point, the true beginning of the world, but it also seems to be a thing, a special, delightful and dazzling kind of thing. The discovery can last a mere moment or be sustained, in spite of temporary setbacks, for years. Each new milestone affords a welcome, if progressively weaker, revival of that sense of ever-earliness and natural right. The mediation of this sense is a painful process, there is no internal logic that points to the need for it; in fact just the opposite, the essence of it is unmediation. Power, freedom, the scope of possibilities must do as well as they can, and with the help of mother wit, make their peace with reality, with others, with the dismal science of indirection, delay and compromise. The thing, however, the special and dazzling thing is immune from all this, since it doesn't actually exist, or at least is nothing in the world. That is should nevertheless be touched, or seem so, is exquisite suffering, to be avoided and sought again and again.