We need to stop blaming our parents for the unhappiness in our lives. It’s not their fault. They were young and inexperienced. They were just doing the worst they could.
In a perfect world, antidepressants wouldn’t have side effects.
Dead at 57. It seems too young! That’s what we say when someone dies in their ’50s.
When death comes in the ’60s, it’s, “Oh, that’s sad! Did she suffer?”
In the ’70s: “He didn’t even get to enjoy retirement. We’ll miss him.”
In the ’80s: “She lived a good, long life, but it was her time.”
In the ’90s: “Boy, he really hung on, the old coot!”
In the 100s: “Jeez, that took long enough. Let’s go get lunch.”
Maybe we’ll never agree on climate change, war or the existence of a loving God. But can we at least agree that “impact” should never be used as a verb; “impactful” should never be used at all; and that “impacted” should be restricted to molars and colons?
Resentment is like buying a loaf of poison when you really want the other person to drink the poison while volunteering to be a victim of a hot coal held in your own hardware store, which you’ll need to keep your side of the street from coming back to hitting the bottom of the “Serenity Prayer.”
“For decades, Anders Ericsson has reminded us of the value of hard work.” Obscure sociological reference courtesy of … David Brooks.