Each and every one of us is a mess. Underneath our masks projecting composure through fashion, wise aphorisms and creativity, it is likely that at any given moment, our souls are screaming. It makes sense that we would, given our minuscule position in the game of survival. It's scary enough that we need calories, a hearth with a working fire and warm hugs to make it to tomorrow. Adding to the equation is that these tools are commodified and your neighbor, Dan, seems to have more spending power than you do, and, well, screaming begins to have appeal.

Dan is the easiest target of any scream. After all, he's right across the street, lets his dog poop on your lawn and listens to weird music. But if you were to enter his mind, you might find him thinking, "My life is of little worth to anyone. Were I to vanish from the face of the Earth today, it would be no great loss".

These words actually belong to Pyotr Tchaikovsky, who once wrote them in a letter to his nephew, probably around the time he had just finished writing the immortal ballet Swan Lake. We all suffer.

And we all search for relief from our suffering. One wonders how much Roman emperor Marcus Aurelius was tired of the senate's childish bickering when he wrote, "You have power over your mind — not outside events", in Meditations, wherein he offered instructions against suffering using the values of Stoicism.

Centuries earlier and across the world, Lao Tzu is believed to have compiled ancient wisdom into the body of work, the Tao Te Ching. In it, he wrote, "The wise man is one who knows what he does not know." Perhaps that day, he was wondering why a flood had been sent to drown children two towns over. Or maybe he was confused as to why his wife moved the kitchen table 5 centimeters to the left, resulting in him smashing his big toe.

Whatever the motivations, both writers sought to find serenity within the chaos of existence. They are like the rest of us, attempting to remain calm as we grasp at kernels of sustenance so that we might rest easy tonight.

Unfortunately, we aren't going to sleep well because Dan is blasting his weird music again. Why, Dan? Can't you see we're trying to get some shut-eye? How are we supposed to get any peace with that incessant bleating?

Our first impulse might be to bring a bat over to Dan's place to smash his stereo into a billion pieces. Or perhaps we'll buy a few extra speakers and crank our own sound system even louder; see how he likes it.

But then we have a third thought. We remember that Dan's wife just left him and took the kids. Dan has all the food he needs; he has a mountain of firewood to keep warm. But he doesn't have the hugs anymore, does he?

If we listen carefully, we might notice that Dan's music has a beat that is the same as ours. That's enough to dance to, isn't it? The Tao Te Ching says, "If you want to get rid of something, you must first allow it to flourish." So, let's go next door and dance with Dan all through the night, and when the sun rises, let's cook what little sausage we have over his fire and share it with him. Who knows, maybe now Dan will keep his dog off our lawn.