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A fee weeks ago, I was miserably riding around in the back of a car, wishing I had a better idea. And it occurred to me, I was perfectly capable of getting out, catching a bus home, and opting out of the entire experience. But when I did the math on that one, it was barely a break-even, maybe. I didn't have proper cash fare, so I'd need to make perhaps two more stops for that. I'd need to find my way back on a Sunday, which takes twice as long as on a weekday. And by the time I made it back, the car ride would already have wrapped up in all likelyhood. So I spent the rest of the ride still miserable, but no longer harboring the illusion that I could trade it in for something different.
Then earlier this week, a friend of mine is in the hospital, and there's nothing I can immediately do to help. The worry starts to eat away at me. Is this it? Is this the illness they can't recover from? I genuinely can't tell if I am having a premonition of their death, or I'm simply picking up on theira(andmy own) existentiallfear.
lfinally I realized that there was no difference in actions between being there for them to help them die well, versus being there for them to help them get better. And since I have no influence over that outcome, it serves neither of us to even consider worst case.
In both of these instances, I found myself figuratively ripping up an imaginary menu of beneficial choices. Youiknow what I mean... The ternate reality where buying a lottery ticket means you will probably win something, and why not thejackpot? That version of events where you're a superhero swooping in to save the day. The good place. Where everything goes right.
I believe I've stumbled onto a deeper truth about happiness. It's impossible to be happy when my mind is loaded down with a bunch of pointless regrets, and unrealistic goals.
Which implies that in order to be in the sweet spot of productively meeting life's challenge, I must also understand and accept my own limitations.
I'll have to remember this, next time I beat myself up for not having correctly guessed the thing that would make me the most happy.
Then earlier this week, a friend of mine is in the hospital, and there's nothing I can immediately do to help. The worry starts to eat away at me. Is this it? Is this the illness they can't recover from? I genuinely can't tell if I am having a premonition of their death, or I'm simply picking up on theira(andmy own) existentiallfear.
lfinally I realized that there was no difference in actions between being there for them to help them die well, versus being there for them to help them get better. And since I have no influence over that outcome, it serves neither of us to even consider worst case.
In both of these instances, I found myself figuratively ripping up an imaginary menu of beneficial choices. Youiknow what I mean... The ternate reality where buying a lottery ticket means you will probably win something, and why not thejackpot? That version of events where you're a superhero swooping in to save the day. The good place. Where everything goes right.
I believe I've stumbled onto a deeper truth about happiness. It's impossible to be happy when my mind is loaded down with a bunch of pointless regrets, and unrealistic goals.
Which implies that in order to be in the sweet spot of productively meeting life's challenge, I must also understand and accept my own limitations.
I'll have to remember this, next time I beat myself up for not having correctly guessed the thing that would make me the most happy.