What doesn’t kill you makes you fan the fires of discontent.  Until your arms get tired.  Then you merely sit and stare at the dying embers of discontent.  You note how beautiful they look as one by one the embers either float off into the gentle breeze or quietly fade away. This gives you a feeling of contentedness and renders the entire practice futile.  The futility of any endeavor gives rise to feelings of discontent.  I’m sure you can see where this is going.