Nothing out there can be grasped, grabbed, held, or kept. No one out there ... same.
That's because there is nothing out there. Atoms. Photons. Space.
Everything I've ever experienced out there I actually experienced in here. The problem is never out there. It's always in here. It's always how I'm perceiving the situation.
Whenever I think something outside of me caused something inside of me, I'm wrong. The outside can occasion how I feel but cannot cause it. The trigger finger might be yours, but the question is: why am I pointing a loaded gun at my temple?
When I drop the gun, the suffering drops, and, sure, I may go different places and hang with different people, but that's because I'm OK, not to make myself OK.
Changing the outside without changing the inside is donning new clothes without having a bath. I'm the source of the stink.
So, what's inside? A choice between two voices. A tiny, mad, yapping lie, and something altogether quieter and indifferent to all disquieting things. Pick the quiet one. It's bigger than the universe.