Acharya Prashant begins by clarifying that his discourse is intended for those who are capable of feeling hurt, noting that he had overlooked the fact that many people have become like stone, inert and unable to feel any real pain. He asserts that the first step is to become someone who can actually start to feel hurt. He observes that people often feel regret over trivial matters and are easily offended by small things. However, the fundamental issue—that the very center of their life is wrong, a fact life repeatedly demonstrates—does not bother them in the slightest. The primary necessity, he explains, is to start feeling bad about this core problem. This can happen in two ways: either life hits so hard that pretending to be unhurt becomes impossible, or someone special enters one's life who continuously inflicts this necessary hurt, thereby awakening a deeper sensitivity. As sensitivity increases, so does the pain, much like a patient regaining consciousness after surgery and starting to feel the wound. People tend to fill their lives with various forms of anesthesia to avoid this fundamental pain. What is needed, Acharya Prashant suggests, is someone who can consistently bring them back to consciousness while also providing the assurance that they are not alone in their suffering. He points out the strange nature of the human ego, which gets wounded by minor issues but refuses to acknowledge the constant, central hurt it endures. People complain about a mouse in the house but ignore that the house itself is wrong, or lament a business loss while the business itself is flawed. Spirituality, he explains, is for those who are ready to endure suffering and acknowledge the central flaws in their lives, not just the superficial ones. If one can easily forget a hurt, it means it was a minor, surface-level issue. The real, deep-seated hurt cannot be forgotten. Forgetting is a sign of immaturity, of not having entered the "arena of adults" where major blows are dealt. Life offers the dangerous convenience of avoiding hurt by not entering the arena at all, or by staying in the "children's arena" and making a show of being hurt by trivialities. He concludes that getting hurt is a great fortune, something one should pray for. It is a privilege that requires paying a heavy price, and not everyone is fortunate enough to be broken. Most people die "unbroken," having never faced the fundamental truths. The real magic is in life itself: to take on a challenge so great that it breaks you. Only then does one discover that something within remains, something that cannot be broken. This indestructible core is the real self, which can only be known after everything else is shattered.