Are we capable of change? We like to think we are. We seek growth and personal fulfillment as we adapt to new circumstances, work towards New Year’s resolutions, promise to do better next time, vow not to repeat the mistakes of the past, commit to forward progress and disdain stagnation.
Yet it seems that every year, we’re in pretty much the same place we started, going through the same motions with the same people in the same jobs and entertaining ourselves in the same ways, theoretically open to change while not actually changing in any observable way.
We tend to forgive ourselves for this, noting that although we haven’t changed yet, we just haven’t encountered the right circumstances to impel us in the desired direction. Something will happen, we tell ourselves, and that will be the final straw needed to get us off the couch and doing what we know we ought to be doing anyway.
After all, it’s not like we never change. We did switch jobs last year or get married or divorced or have a child or move to another place. That’s change, right? So what if it’s more superficial than substantive. It’s still movement. And we at least contemplated more impactful transformation even if we didn’t follow through like we might have wished.
I know we can change given the right motivation. Look at people who are imprisoned. Their lives change because they’re forced into it. Meals, time in the yard, work: all dictated by their jailers. Although it’s a challenge at first, prisoners soon fall into a routine. They change because they have to.
Look at people who are severely injured or experience debilitating disease. They too change. Perhaps they’re confined to a wheelchair or a bed. Perhaps they’re blinded or deafened. They adapt because they have no choice.
Even those who don’t necessarily have to change often do – an overweight man with high blood pressure and a stent suddenly getting religion with respect to exercise or a woman surviving a heart attack finally giving up cigarettes. Change is definitely possible.
But change is hard. And if the motivation isn’t sufficiently strong, we will resist it, partly because we’re inherently lazy and partly because we’re doing what we enjoy doing. Why should we give up smoking or eating dessert or vegging on the sofa if we don’t have to? Tomorrow is always a better day to make a change that we know is good for us but that we don’t really want to make.
That’s why, although people talk about the climate crisis or the debt crisis, we don’t actually do anything substantive about them from a governmental standpoint. Only superficial changes, nothing that burdens people too much.
Of course, at some point we will have to change. And then we will. It might be too late. The problem then might be so great that the change we commit to, though necessary, won’t be sufficient. So we’ll have to change even more. That will likely bring immense pain, but better a distant pain than a current one, even if the distant one is way more painful than what we would experience today.
The way we view it is that the person having to endure that future pain isn’t really us; it’s some future version of us maybe, but it’s not really us. It’s not the us of the here and now. So go ahead and heap pain on that future us if you have to, but leave the present us alone. After all, we might get lucky and the pain might come to our children or grandchildren instead of to us.
Well, don’t worry. It’s coming.
Here is the link to the Amazon page: ==> http://smarturl.it/DECtg
Wanda was used to making New Year’s resolutions and holding onto them for as many as 10 or 15 days. Mostly they involved exercise and diet and kept her miserable for the whole of January until she finally accepted that they weren’t going to stick. This year, however, she decided to try something a little different, something that might last; this year she resolved to be more selfish.
She had high hopes for this one. After all, how could a resolution to be more selfish go wrong? It was the perfect choice. She started slowly, cutting in front of traffic on her first day back to work after the holiday and smiling at the inevitable honk. No waiting in line for me today, thank you.
She kept that up for a week until one guy tailgated her off the highway, only breaking away when she pulled into the parking lot at the police station. Perhaps, she decided, there were better ways to be selfish.
The next time she was at the grocery store, she took not one, not two, but three free samples of the cheese and sausage on offer, pretending the glare she received from the sales rep who was passing them out didn’t bother her. “Fank you,” she mumbled around the food in her mouth.
It felt odd embracing selfishness, as if she were working against her natural state, though she’d never considered herself particularly selfless before. Was it just the peculiarity of focusing on being self-centered, of working toward a goal that was so opposite to what she’d been taught? Was that what felt different?
For the next few days at work, she let Andrew do the hard tasks even though before they’d always split them 50-50. He said nothing, but his attitude toward her grew a little chillier, the environment finally becoming unpleasant enough that she succumbed to the unspoken pressure and returned to her earlier ways, even taking the absolute worst job – attempting to collect unpaid invoices – for the next week.
She considered abandoning her resolution at that point. Instead, she fought harder to be selfish, feeling afterwards a combination of thrill and loathing. At Walmart, she raced past an obese, middle-aged woman with a full cart, beating her to the checkout and saving herself five minutes of waiting.
She found one of the neighbor boy’s many golf frisbees in her yard for the umpteenth time and rather than return it, she took it inside and put it in a closet. When Jorge brought donuts to work, she selected the raspberry Bismark. When her brother asked her to babysit on a Friday night, she said she already had plans.
For a time, she mostly managed to keep her resolution, feeling both satisfied and guilty, then defensive and angry. I have the right, she told herself, to do what I want. And yet, she didn’t want this. How could she go on thinking only about herself?
Tuesday in early March, standing at the corner, waiting for the traffic light, the old woman next to her pulling her hand from her pocket and a $20 bill fluttering unnoticed to the ground. She moved her foot over the corner of the bill. Damn! How hard could it be to keep a resolution like this?
“Excuse me,” she said, gesturing toward her shoe. “You dropped something.”
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The holidays are upon us, that magical time of year when people become kinder and more introspective, more willing to change for the better, discarding “Bah, humbug!” for thoughtful giving, for peace and goodwill toward all, or so the myth goes.
I understand the desire to eliminate Scrooge’s mindset from the human condition. His miserly attitude toward his fellow humans sparks outrage. His extreme views strike us as wicked, or at least small.
Yet the magical transformation he undergoes (indeed, almost all Christmas stories are descendants of A Christmas Carol) seems to me to be only slightly less healthy. It is another extremist position that cannot maintain its hold for long.
For we like the middle road. We cannot be always evil or constantly good. No, we have to be composites, blends of both, or else we’re likely to go mad. And I think these stories promise a false Eden. They preach that the transformation is miraculous and permanent, when in fact it’s not even all that surprising because it’s never permanent.
Soon we fall back into our familiar patterns, sometimes a little wiser, sometimes a little more selfless, but we settle back into our normal mindset eventually. Just as our bodies have their preferred shapes that we can only temporarily change via diet and exercise, so our minds have their preferred outlooks.
These are harmless fantasies, some say. Chill. They’re just frothy fun. Like Disney princess movies or nearly every rom com.
But I don’t think they’re harmless. They promise a future that can’t exist, one that encourages the status quo of our society. They denounce, in between commercials, commercialism. They leave us feeling hopeful that some miracle will save us.
But that’s not going to happen. Only we can save us and only if we accept certain hard truths. And yet, that’s not who we are. Asking us to accept that there are no miracles is like asking us to change the fundamental nature of what we are. It just isn’t going to work.
Asking people not to enjoy stupid Christmas movies is like asking them to give up being human. We are bound to be what we are. We’re forgetful trains barreling down a track and we can’t leave the rails. We’ll ride them to their end, good or bad, and then we’ll wonder how we got there.
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We are encouraged at an early age to develop good habits. We are also creatures of habit. So I’ve been thinking about habits lately. Is it actually a good thing to cultivate habits or should we try to break free of them?
Obviously, if we’ve developed good habits, we should continue to engage in that kind of behavior, and certain habits are easily classified as good or bad. Smoking, for example, is a bad habit. I think even smokers would agree to that. Drinking to excess is another. Showing up late for work, neglecting to clean your bathroom, eating a lot of fast food: there are plenty of examples of bad habits.
And plenty of examples of good ones: practicing kindness and honesty, working hard, exercising.
But there are many other habits that aren’t as easily classified. We often tend to watch the same news channel, for example. Is that good or bad? Some would say that if you’re watching only Fox News or CNN, that’s bad, and they’re probably right.
We often tend to go to bed at the same time: most would say that’s a good thing. Getting into a regular routine helps us sleep better, which keeps us healthier both physically and mentally.
Of course, if our habit is to go to bed late and wake up early, that’s not good. If we get to bed by midnight and get up around six, we’re probably getting less than six hours of sleep. After a while, that catches up with us.
Another habit: we tend to check our phones or computers frequently during the day, looking for messages or new information, fearing we’ll be left out if we don’t keep on top of current events.
This can be good, allowing us to respond quickly to emergencies, but it also ties us to our technology in ways that don’t allow us to have a break. We’re always “on,” unable to relax, calm our minds and just be in the moment.
Habits are the body’s way of taking shortcuts. Everyone is lazy; everyone seeks to conserve energy. It’s one of the ways we survived and evolved to be what we are today. Any opportunity to save effort, the body pounces on. Habits result from that programming put into us.
So when habits are good or at least not bad, we ought to continue pursuing them, and when habits are bad, we ought to try to free ourselves of them. For habits that are neither good nor bad, just actions to which we’ve become accustomed, there are benefits to be had from continuing them and benefits we accrue when we break them.
Always taking the same route on our after-dinner walk, for example, allows our brains to become distracted, to think about other matters. It provides the opportunity to focus on challenges at work or at home without having to expend mental energy on where we’re going, to find creative solutions to whatever might be troubling us.
On the other hand, taking a new path allows us to see things we haven’t encountered before, or at least not often. This can encourage creativity just as much as taking our standard route. It can open our eyes to possibilities we’d never before considered.
The solution? A mix of following habit and breaking it, never getting too caught up in one or the other.
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I’ve published 7 novels now and I’m sometimes asked which is my favorite or which one is the best. That’s sort of like asking a parent which child is the favorite. For most parents, that’s a question they’re unlikely to answer.
With books, there’s no one to offend. And yet, it may not be possible for me to ascertain which of my books is my favorite or the best. The four books in my Susquehanna Virus science fiction series – The Devereaux Dilemma, The Devereaux Disaster, The Devereaux Decision and The Devereaux Deity – each have their strengths and weaknesses.
They really should be read as one long novel, each informing the following one, culminating in a transcendent moment of ecstasy at the conclusion of the fourth tome. Okay, perhaps that’s a bit strong. But the point is that each has segments I think are great and each has sections I could probably have written better.
At the time I completed them, I had written them as well as I could have at that moment in my life. I could not have made them any better without hanging onto them for years and revisiting them every so often, like Leonardo da Vinci and his Mona Lisa.
They explore the near future, when we will have genetically modified humans and nanotechnology inside our bodies, when a virus will threaten our species, when our politics will be just as dysfunctional as they are today, when our environment and wealth inequality are still issues. They do not predict the future so much as they examine our present course and issue a warning about where we’re heading.
There are no aliens, no warp drives, no wormholes – just a steady increase in our technological abilities to a point where our very survival becomes at risk. I conducted a great deal of research for those novels and I learned a lot about what we might encounter, though it’s impossible to know for certain what challenges we will face.
And yet a lot of people won’t read sci-fi. They love the movies (Star Wars and Star Trek and Avatar) but they often don’t want to read that genre.
So I have written three other novels. One – Emerging Man – took me nearly 25 years to complete. It’s a story of a man approaching 40 who returns to the small town where he grew up, befriending and assisting an old sculptor, learning life lessons along the way. This was truly a labor of love, one that I revised and rewrote many times, but is it my most-loved book?
I’m not sure I can say that. It certainly took the most effort, just as The Man Who Found His Moniker took the least amount. In that book, a man who has endured a tragedy in his past (related to a school shooting), experiences visions that lead him to believe he is being given the opportunity to stop another one.
For some reason, that book almost wrote itself, the subject matter and the main character freeing themselves from my imagination almost as quickly as I could get the words on the page. It was as if the ideas were trapped inside my brain, just waiting for me to release the floodgates and send them rushing into the world. So maybe that should be my favorite book.
Or perhaps it ought to be my werewolf book – Hound of God – which I wrote as a challenge to myself, to see if I could write something outside my comfort zone. I was pleased with it when I finished the work, pleasantly surprised that I could succeed in a genre I was not that comfortable tackling, but can I say it’s my favorite book?
Ultimately it doesn’t matter what I think. Writing is subjective. So is reading. For every beloved book, you can find people who hated it (if you get a large enough sample of readers). So I can’t say which is my favorite. But I don’t have to. That’s a job for my readers.
Here is the link to the Amazon page: ==> http://smarturl.it/EMEtg
Recently, I decided to re-read You Can’t Go Home Again, Thomas Wolfe’s classic, and as I was working my way through Book VI, where George Webber is preparing to depart and then leaving Germany in 1936, I found parallels to our situation in America.
In the novel, George Webber feels a sense of foreboding, that Germany is on the cusp of something terrible, particularly with respect to discrimination against Jews. What struck me is that Wolfe likely wrote this scene in 1937 and early 1938 before dying in September, almost exactly one year before the outbreak of WWII. It’s in this part of the novel that George Webber realizes that Germany – the country he has loved and almost worshiped – has changed irrevocably. It has in fact disappeared.
All that got me thinking about America today. I don’t think we’re at the same point precisely, but I do get the sense that we’re edging ever closer to a great schism, a time in which we’ll be called to make a stand one way or the other. Do we want to be a nation that seeks its own goals only, the rest of the world be damned, or do we want to strive toward being a global partner, concerned with the whole world’s wellbeing?
I don’t know how we’ll answer that; I don’t think anyone does. But it seems clear that we’ve entered the fray, some of us determined to protect our own, to continue on the course our forebears have plotted for us, while others call for systemic change, believing we should throw out everything we’ve accomplished to this point and start over.
It doesn’t even matter who’s right, who’s viewpoint will be proven by history to be correct. What matters is the rancor and acrimony extant in our civilization now, the inability or at least unwillingness to compromise, practically guaranteeing that nothing will get done.
And compromise doesn’t mean my side giving in to your side or vice versa. It means thoughtful deliberation after examination of all the available evidence. No new taxes and Medicare for all simply cannot coexist. There must be a third way, where some taxes can be raised and a healthcare public option can be created, for example.
But the Manichean voices on the left and right, so convinced of their rectitude, would rather burn the planet down than surrender one inch to the enemy. It’s easy to blame the politicians, but we can’t really do that since we’re the ones who put them there. Nazi Germany, at least had a dictator at the helm. We don’t have that excuse.
So we press on, looking for the glorious victory, heedless of the smaller achievements we might be capable of attaining. We’re not interested in moderate candidates. We don’t want to succeed by inches. It’s all or nothing.
It wasn’t always that way. At one time we understood that you can’t always get what you want. Sometimes you have to take a small win and work to build on that. But that isn’t who we are right now. For us, in these times, the world is black and white. If you believe something different from what I believe, then you’re not just wrong, you’re evil – and compromising with you would taint me.
So where does that leave us? I’m not sure I have the answer. I do know we need to become more thoughtful and less reactive, more willing to consider that we might be wrong and that our initial instincts need to be examined carefully. We need to avoid mob mentality and focus on finding ways to work with those who see things differently.
I’m not sure if that will be sufficient, but the course we’re on now seems dangerous.
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We all want our government to pay for certain things. Those wants are different for different people, but we all want government to pay for something. The problem, however, is that there isn’t enough money to pay for all the things we want government to do.
There’s enough money if we choose to do only what some of us want. For example, some of us want a border wall with Mexico and a strong military, not Medicare for all, not government paying for environmental cleanup, not people getting a guaranteed income. What’s important is projecting strength to the world so that we won’t get taken advantage of.
Some silly people are concerned about wild horses. That was in the news recently. The head of the Bureau of Land Management said that it will take $5 billion and 15 years to get an overpopulation of wild horses under control on federal lands across the western U.S. Should we spend our collective money on a project like that? Some of us are adamantly opposed to culling wild horses from the West while others are passionate about shrinking herds to sustainable levels.
Or what about education and student loans?
A top official in the federal student loan program resigned recently, calling the system fundamentally broken and advocating for the forgiveness of $50,000 in student loan debt for everyone, regardless of income. Some laud his position while others call it foolhardy.
On a more basic level, some think public education is a constitutional right while others believe it ought to be privatized. That certainly benefits some. If everyone were to receive a set amount for vouchers, the middle class could use the money to augment their resources and send their kids to the best schools while the poor would be stuck at failing schools.
As for infrastructure, pretty much everybody wants roads and bridges that aren’t falling apart and desires government to pay for them. In northern states particularly, government is tasked with snow and ice removal in the winter as well as pothole repair in spring. Few would argue that government should get out of that business.
Police and fire – again, most of us want the government paying for those services rather than letting the wealthy hire their own private constabulary/firefighters while leaving the rest of us to deal with such misfortune on our own.
But there are myriad areas that require some sort of funding – the opioid crisis; mental health treatment; subsidizing housing and sports teams; protecting Monarch butterflies and bald eagles; building floodwalls in low-lying areas; subsidizing coal, solar or nuclear energy; light rail; mail delivery; SNAP benefits; subsidizing cotton, peanuts, sugar or milk. The list is practically endless – and I haven’t even included Medicare and Social Security, two of the biggest drivers of debt.
Obviously we can’t fund everything. There just isn’t enough money, no matter how much you tax corporations and the rich. That’s not to say they shouldn’t be paying a higher level than they currently are. They definitely should. But that’s not enough to solve all our wants.
The reality is that there just isn’t enough money to pay for everything we want. But if we can only afford to pay for some of what we want, what part should we fund? This is the unanswerable question. Why? Because we as a society can’t agree on what our priorities ought to be. Until we can do that (and I’m increasingly convinced we’ll never be able to do that), we’ll never be satisfied with anyone else’s answer.
Here is the link to the Amazon page: ==> http://smarturl.it/DEItg
There’s been a lot of talk of quid pro quo lately and I think it’s worth discussing because it’s prevalent in our society, albeit rarely formalized. With Trump and Ukraine, for example, it’s pretty clear that there was a quid pro quo even though nothing was written down; no conditions or restrictions were explicitly placed on the prime minister.
Foreign countries stay at his properties or even pay to stay at his properties and then don’t actually stay there (so there’s no wear and tear, or the properties can even be double booked) in the hopes of getting favorable treatment from the administration.
Or look at wealthy donors and universities. Again, nothing is stated as crassly as: “You admit my son and I’ll help build your new science lab.” Instead it’s often: “Let’s admit Mr. Lavish’s daughter because then he’ll be inclined to help pay for a new library.”
You see this in employment situations where Chelsea Clinton and Jenna Bush get jobs not because of their skills but because of their connections. Even if they have the minimum qualifications, they’re not the most qualified; they’re just the most high-profile.
Wealthy employers often hire the children of their friends or relatives. A Harvard degree isn’t nearly as important as knowing the right people. And if your friend’s child just happens to have a Harvard degree because of that child’s parents’ connections with VIPs from the university, so much the better.
This “nepotism” is always morally questionable and yet remains rampant in our society.
You see it in dating where the person in power uses that edge to get what he wants by implicitly promising something in exchange for sex, which is one reason why bosses should never date subordinates.
People in power have learned to make these quid pro quos implicit. Very few people are stupid enough to say, “Do this for me or else.” Doing it implicitly makes it a lot easier to have deniability. “I never said she had to do this in order to get that.”
But the point is you didn’t have to say it. That was understood from the beginning by both sides. If you have to say it, then you really don’t have the power you or they think you have. In this world, everything is an implicit deal. “I do this for you. You do that for me.”
When everything is a deal, when every transaction is assumed to be some sort of quid pro quo, trust in society breaks down. People assume that there has been some sort of payoff or side deal. Recently, a Democratic congressman resigned from a University of Minnesota paid fellowship (for which he got to write the job description and set his own hours) over questions about how he got the position. He had been hired by a former state senator from the same party.
It’s possible this was a legitimate transaction, but it certainly looks bad. So why do it? Obviously because they thought they could get away with it. They may not even have thought they did anything wrong. And that in itself is a problem. When you can’t recognize the corruption you’re engaged in, it’s harder to ferret it out in others.
Perhaps it’s no worse now than it always has been, but we see it more often now because of the pervasiveness of digital communication. This is a problem because trust in our leaders continues to erode. We now expect them to be cheating us pretty much every opportunity they get.
And when trust dies, society falls.
Here’s the link to the Amazon page: ==> http://smarturl.it/DECtg
Weakness as strength is a Taoist thought. Lao Tzu said, “Nothing in the world is weaker than water but against the hard and the strong nothing outdoes it.” And Wang Tao said, “Eight feet of water can float a thousand-ton ship. Six feet of leather can control a thousand-mile horse. Thus does the weak excel the strong.”
We often think of these kinds of aphorisms as cute even if somewhat irrelevant to our lives. Or we consider them semantic games. They’re actually designed to get us to think in different ways, to see the world in ways we hadn’t previously conceived.
But in a broader sense, there’s a lot of truth to the idea that weakness is actually strength. Consider, for example, a sports team. I helped coach a seventh- and eighth-grade co-rec soccer team this fall. We experienced some wins and some losses. And we learned a lot from both.
We learned that we could be successful by utilizing the sides of the field, by switching directions instead of just trying to march straight up the pitch each time we possessed the ball. This was a lesson we learned in both victory and defeat. When we were beaten, it was usually because the other team did that better than we did. And when we won, we generally did it better.
Yet our team struggled with this concept for most of the season. Their first instinct was to play the ball forward, toward the opposing team’s goal, even if they had to fight through half a dozen defenders. Only near the end of the season, after a painful loss to an all-boys team, did they grasp that maybe pushing the ball forward every single time they touched it might not be the best strategy.
Maybe the lesson – that you don’t necessarily want to meet strength with strength – will stick with them.
Palm trees bend with the wind, so they’re often able to withstand hurricanes. As trees go, they’re not particularly strong. Yet by yielding, they survive when stronger trees are toppled. Similarly, when we recognize our weaknesses, we are afforded the opportunity to craft alternative solutions.
This flexibility of mind is a strength. It’s a way of adjusting ourselves or the world around us to achieve a goal despite not being able to do so via the straight path. And sometimes there is no adaptation to be made. Sometimes our strength lies in accepting our weakness.
The athlete at the end of a career. The movie star whose external beauty fades. Too many hang on too long, viewing themselves as strong by putting off the inevitable, not realizing that their actions are causing them to sink into objects of pity and sadness.
But we’re all going to lose in the end. None of us are getting out of this existence alive. Some of us have a better idea of how and when we’re going to be exiting than others, but none of us is ultimately going to win.
Whether enduring an incurable, fatal disease or simply approaching our final exit, we can choose to fight it with fear and anger or face it with dignity. Dylan Thomas wrote: “Do not go gentle into that good night … rage against the dying of the light.”
I get it. I understand the desire for life, for success, for glory, for that one last moment in the sun. But embracing or at least accepting the inevitable, that is real strength.
Here is the link to the Amazon page: ==> http://smarturl.it/DIStg
When is the right time to give up? When is it okay to stop banging your head against the wall? Well, if you’re literally banging your head against a wall, I’d say you’re allowed to give up pretty much immediately. One knock of your noggin against the old plaster and you ought to have society’s blessing to move on to something else.
But most situations aren’t so clear cut. When should the middle-aged actor/poet/writer seeking to make it in the arts call it quits? What level of success is acceptable and when should one move on to other pastures?
Even with life itself there comes a point where people decide they no longer want to be here. I’m not talking about suicide per se (although I’m including it as well), but rather about old age and infirmity. I’ve known a number of older people who just decided to let go – leaving behind chronic pain and a kind of ennui at the remainder of their days.
Some have faulted them for relinquishing God’s precious gift of life. Others marvel that anyone should judge them for seeking to end their misery. When is it okay for them to quit?
Or consider Florence Foster Jenkins, the socialite who wanted to be an opera singer. (A biopic of the same name starred Meryl Streep.) Although she was a good piano player, her voice never reached those same heights. Was she aware of that? Did she know how bad she sounded or did she delude herself into believing she sounded the way she wanted to sound? The latter seems more likely.
Another example is Fred Astaire. A critic once said of him: “Can’t act. Can’t sing. Balding. Can dance a little.” Should he have given up? Obviously not since he became a Hollywood legend. But how many others who were encouraged to give up actually did so?
The problem with knowing when to give up is mostly in the timing. Van Gogh was encouraged to quit painting many times in his life, but he kept working at it through failure after failure, and he finally began experiencing a modicum of success just prior to his death.
The Astaire and van Gogh stories compel many of us to stick with our dreams long after we should walk away. Yet there are also many of us who quit too soon, after a few negative comments or a handful of obstacles.
I’ve heard people say, “If only so and so had stuck with the piano (or their relationship or college), their life would have turned out so much better.” And I’ve heard people say, “If only so and so had quit that job (or football or their horrible marriage) sooner, they would have been so much happier.” Yet we can never know the truth of those statements. We can’t know for certain whether quitting is the right choice.
So, when is the right time to give up? Obviously, it’s a personal choice, unique to each individual. Some people’s tolerance for pain is greater than others’. Some people’s passion or dedication runs hotter and requires more in the way of obstacles for them to surrender.
It’s easy to stand on the sidelines and judge, to say Amy shouldn’t have given up while Joe should have, but the reality is that none of us has the right to say when someone else should quit.
Here is the link to the Amazon page: ==> http://smarturl.it/DILtg