Format the following passage properly, for storytelling purposes. Keep it as written, don't change a single word, but improve grammar where necessary.

The closet light flickers on and off, a seeming indication of its eventual expiration. It has been a temperamental bulb from the time I moved in, and surely temperamental for far longer than merely the duration in which I have resided here. In more than one sense, it is a metaphor for life itself, how many humans will find themselves battling to hold onto their independence, battling to maintain some semblance of youthful optimism as they find themselves losing more of their heroes, either to natural causes or the taking of God's will into their (or someone else's) hands. I have made an effort to get in touch with some of my own 'heroes' lately. It is strange to use the term now, as while there is a part of me that keeps them on the mythical pedestal I had once ascribed to them in my youth, there is another part that has attained enough maturity with age to recognize that there is little apart from their place of residence, their age, their tax bracket, or perhaps the extent of their desire to make the world a better place, to differentiate them so dramatically from myself. It has been inspiring to meet some of the people who have inspired me when I was young. In many cases, I have only met them in a virtual arena, our exchanges made possible through WiFi connections and access to mobile phone data (and more importantly, through electricity). I have dared to disturb their universes, and have found myself met less with wrath and more with kindness, and even more so with knowledge. Last night, I dared yet again to contact someone who I have not heard from, after sporadic attempts over the last several months to get in touch. "This will surely be the last time," I tell myself. "Unless the fates align such that we are destined to meet face-to-face, I better understand, now more than ever before, the point at which persistence becomes problematic." I have learned the lesson more than once in my dealings with other individuals, and regret to contemplate the possibility that I may have to learn it yet again before my life is over. Through my experiences, through innumerable 'wins' and 'losses', I have developed an ability to put myself in another person's position, to try and see a situation through their eyes. It is partially, if not precisely, because of having honed this capability that I find myself less frustrated than I would have been in my younger years, whenever I have to deal with rude or inconsiderate behavior from others. I try to be as conscious of what others are going through as I possibly can, and yet I can't help but wonder if I am being overly cautious at times. Is there a chance, however minuscule, that in my efforts to be considerate, I have been rude the entire time and not even known it? This is but one question that goes through my mind, a roadblock that must be dealt with if I am to get closer to the ideal of happiness that we all strive for in this world. In a song called "The Purpose of Our Living", veteran singer-songwriter Mari Iijima offers her reflections on why we are all here. After some initial musings, we enter the second half of the song, wherein she declares to have found the answer, and follows it up with some poignant reflections on the nature of our shared humanity: "The purpose of our living / I think I know the answer / It's to be happy / Yes, that simple! / I'm thankful for what I have / Instead of counting what I don't / We're all blessed in one way or another / Being happy isn't always easy / We often find something to be unhappy with / Let's take a deep breath and ask what is so bad / You see? / No matter how rich and famous some people become / They feel the void inside, they're never satisfied / Happiness is my bunny / Happiness is my pink ballet shoes...to me." Though we may never definitively know the meaning of life, I find myself drawn to Mari's point of view. Hearing this song for the first time back in 2016, I wasn't able to appreciate it then the way I do now. Having lost many of the things--and many of the people--who have brought a sense of purpose to my life, or enhanced that which was already there, has led in some cases, in other cases forced, me to take stock of that which still remains. As I hear the birds chirping outside, I wonder if they have found their own answer to that same old question: "what is the purpose of our living?" Perhaps theirs is to sing a song of gratitude, for the beauty of their environment. I see the leaves moving around, in a much more pronounced dance than I had grown used to witnessing. Maybe their purpose is to allow the air to be a choreographer, their Creator a conductor in the symphony that is our existence. I feel compelled to sing of the things that I still have, not the least of which is a roof over my head. It is equally compelling to retrieve my new Samsung phone, a Galaxy A15 5G which recently replaced my 2023 Moto 5G Stylus, an upgrade that our house manager was kind enough to facilitate on my behalf yesterday. I am grateful that rather than just going for the cheapest phone available, I did have a choice in the matter; my preference was to get one with an old-fashioned 3.5mm headphone jack, in order to enjoy uncompressed music through the blue earbuds I inherited from my father (or should I say, found in a water-damaged box containing various items that were once his, tested one day and quite happily discovered still work). More than a decade after he had first purchased them, that same pair of blue earbuds occupies a place of honor in one of my small dressers, in a drawer that also contains my faded brown FAU wallet that I've had since 2010, a trusty blue 16GB Memorex USB flash drive that I have had for about five or six years now, Lionel Cornwell's Purple Heart that he earned in World War II, a hex wrench, two spare bolts, the instruction manual for the chair in which I am now sitting, my house manager's email address, and the first draft of the obituary I did some revisions on for her earlier this week. If my understanding is correct, the Galaxy A15 5G is the only one they carry that still has a jack. Following a brief immersion in a few compositions by the marvelous Edd Kalehoff which will itself soon be followed by sending an email (in part to thank him for his legendary achievements in the field, also in part to let him know that his SourceAudio page is down; as it is a treasure trove of great music, I hope it won't be lost forever), I take a moment to ponder bits of rust on the underside of one of the bathroom racks, visible from my vantage point while sitting on the toilet. It seems I think some of my most valuable (or should I say least useless) thoughts when I am there. Perhaps, with a little bit of soap and water, it is possible to get it clean enough to look as good as new. I wonder if I am the man to do it. Being a big man who has had past misfortunes when the situation called for being gentle, what would happen to me should I accidentally loosen the rack, or even knock it off the wall somehow? I am sure I would survive, but would I now be walking on thinner ice than before with those who have a say in how long I can stay? Call me a coward if you wish--hey, I heard that!--but I choose to leave it alone. Still, seeing that rust leads me to ruminate on the idea that if we spend a little time each day to clean something up, no matter how infinitesimal in the grand scheme of things, we have improved the world to some extent.