It is frustration that opens the world. The mark of an exceptional artist is that he knows how to allow his frustrations to blossom into his art, and in so doing give blossom to the world. Artistic sensibility is made up largely of frustration. (The mark of an inferior or mediocre artist is that he allows his frustrations merely to frustrate him, to make him nervous, wary, and angry.)
Frustration is the source of chromaticism in writing, like chromaticism in music.
Frustration, too, accounts for the illumination that is brought to the things of the world by thinking. The philosopher is the one who (among other things) lives in such a way so as to generate frustrations within himself, and so be able to comprehend. It is this disposition to create frustrations, and the activity of doing so, that other people notice, but rarely realize, when they remark on the ambiguous, seemingly circular if not errant, behavior of the philosopher or artist.
Frustration does not leave one remote from life and things. To the contrary, frustration is essential to the closest intimacy.