If I fail, I fail myself. I find that the world takes care of it's own, at least to the degree that each is accustomed to. In a nutshell, 'Life goes on.' And so I think that every soul I have been, am, or ever will be, accountable for is free of my guardianship as they are responsible for their own failings. I wash my hands clean.
If I attempt to create but instead destroy, I am a fool. But I am alone in my foolishness. Besides, there will always be food on the table and if not then blame the government, not me. There will always be a roof overhead, even if it's pricked with stars. I am and you are, there is nothing more important then knowing that. You are gifted with life, or cursed with it. The glass has water in it regardless of whether it's filling up or emptying out.
When asked 'how am I' I have to say, 'I can't complain'. And I mean that literally. What a sack of iron balls one needs to complain about the gift of life! No matter how long or brief. No matter how miserable or happy. No matter... God? The veil between man and Jehovah grows thicker with each 'You' spouted in contempt. Jesus was a carpenter, he builds bridges of wood. The bridges span the veil gap. Where is that Buddha guy when you need him?
Lament if you will. I suppose it's your right. But how can I? Knowing what I know and seeing what I have seen, how can I stand here with fist outstretched to the Creator's face and curse him for my existence? Then again, how can I so flippantly disregard my failings, so passively except my rebellious squandering of gifts? I begin to understand the need for judgment. And the judgment shall be fair. Fair yet not pleasant. Oh, oh! Now, I fear death all the more.