Humans are social animals, deeply influenced by those around them. As an illegal immigrant in France, I’ve come to appreciate just how much power other people’s perceptions and expectations have over me. Yet, despite my status, I’ve been extraordinarily fortunate. Contrary to what many might assume, I live in very good conditions. I have access to the essentials—a steady salary for sustenance, a home in Paris, healthcare, books, libraries, and transportation. In fact, I have more than what a man truly needs to survive.

Still, there are those who pity me, especially because I haven’t returned home in five years. What’s more troubling, though, is how much I’ve come to pity myself. It’s a recurring thought, one that gnaws at the edges of my mind, even when I try to push it away. I know that many immigrants face far harsher realities than I do, yet self-pity often lingers in the background of my thoughts.

This realization forces me to confront an uncomfortable question: how much of what I consider unfair in my life is truly unfair, and how much is simply what I’ve been told to feel is unfair? I wonder how much of my dissatisfaction stems from social conditioning rather than genuine personal struggle. This pattern extends to other areas of my life as well. Take the idea of having a partner, for example. Over time, I was told—repeatedly—that I need one. This belief became so ingrained in me that it led me to destructive habits, like turning to pornography, and losing touch with what I truly wanted. My misery stemmed not from a lack of a partner, but from losing sight of myself.

We often want things not because we truly desire them, but because others tell us we should. We want the newest phone because someone else has it. We’re on social media because others have convinced us it’s necessary. In chasing these external validations, we forget to focus on what is truly essential. I’ve fallen into that trap myself, trying to fit into a mold defined by others. It’s only now that I realize how lost I’ve become in the process.

The wisdom of the Stoics offers clarity. They emphasize focusing first on what is necessary—food, shelter, and the bare essentials of life. By that standard, I have everything I need. Yet, I’ve still managed to find reasons to complain, to be unhappy, to feel as though life is unfair. If this isn’t the very definition of ingratitude, then I don’t know what is.

This journey of reflection has taught me a valuable lesson: I must recalibrate my perspective. Life is rarely about what we lack; it’s about how we perceive what we already have. Gratitude is not just an attitude; it’s a discipline, a way of grounding ourselves in the reality of what truly matters. I have more than enough, yet my dissatisfaction has been fueled by external narratives rather than internal truths.