When you finish reading this, go outside, preferably to a park or an undeveloped area away from the embellishments of humanity as much as you are able.
Inhale the aroma of pines and firs. Put your nose to a flower – any flower – and sniff. If there are no flowers, absorb the aromatic scent of a leaf, a mold, a fungus. Close your eyes and breathe deeply of the molecules of life.
Feel the wind brush your skin. Palm the grass. Touch a branch, the bark of a tree. Caress the bulges and valleys as you move your fingertips along the wood. Multiply the sensation by a billion, a trillion, more.
Open your eyes and study the sky, the clouds, stars or moon. Linger there for minutes as you discern the shapes, the edges, the contrasts between light and dark, the gradations of black or blue or white.
Dig in the soil with your hands – not deep – just enough to connect you to the earth. Scrape the clay or sand into your fingernails. Smell it. You belong to that place. You have become it as surely as it has built you.
Recline upon the ground like a statue. Close your eyes. Listen to the planet speak. Immerse yourself in the soughing breeze, in the chirps of chipmunks or crickets or tree frogs. Shift position. Hear your own movement intruding on the external.
You are more than a device attached to your phone, computer, tablet. You are not an app. You have transcended the technology that brought you to this moment. You are a god and a devil. You have the power for good and evil.
Like the bear, the lion, the shark. The ant, the fly, the bumblebee. The sparrow, the crow, the squirrel.
You need to be connected to the world electronically. That will not change soon. But you needn’t be connected solely through your screens. There are other ways to experience the multitude and magnitude of life surrounding us.
Remember, you are part of a greater whole. You are insignificant and completely necessary, a tiny fragment that when vanished, will never return, a piece of a puzzle we may never fully understand, but a thing of beauty nonetheless.
We hear lots of talk about our national debt at various points, usually around election time, so I thought I would examine the issue to see how bad it is. First of all, an explanation: national debt is what our government owes to people and countries who invest in Treasury bills or lend us money.
As I write this, our national debt stands at around $19 trillion. It generally has risen with every presidency except for the presidencies of Jimmy Carter and Bill Clinton. Generally, the way we reduce our national debt is by growing our GDP (Gross Domestic Product) rather than running a budget surplus – which has only happened four times in the past 40 years [from 1998-2001].
Why is our increasing national debt a problem? Can’t we just print more money to pay off our creditors? Of course we can. However, that would devalue our monetary system and cause massive inflation – imagine a loaf of bread that costs $100 or more.
We could also just tear up the notes and tell our creditors, “We ain’t paying. Get over it.” But that would lead to another set of problems – people and countries refusing to invest in the United States.
So the problem is that we’re spending an increasing amount of our money on paying back those people/countries who lent us money, which means we’ve got less money to spend on things like roads and the power grid and water mains, not to mention government programs like Social Security, Medicare, defense and education.
We haven’t reached a crisis point yet and some, mostly on the left, will say we needn’t worry about the national debt because of that. There’s plenty of time, they say, to fix the debt problem once we’ve fully recovered from the great recession – put people back to work in good jobs with decent wages.
Others, mostly on the right, say we’re close to an apocalypse of sorts. They say if we don’t act now, lenders and investors will demand much higher interest rates and we’ll spend even more on our debt than we currently do, leaving us that much closer to the raggedy edge of bankruptcy.
Many folks think our debt to GDP ratio should be less than 60%. Currently it sits at perhaps 100% or more. Some believe we shouldn’t even be talking about our debt in such a simplistic way because there are many complex ways of looking at the issue. However, what is clear is that we’re on an unsustainable path.
One way to reduce our debt is to cut our ridiculous military expenditures. For example, we have approximately 600 military bases in 40 countries around the world at an annual cost of perhaps $100 billion. About 250 of those bases are in Germany and Japan – remnants of WWII. Why? Mostly to benefit military contractors.
Another way is to stop our subsidies to the wealthy, offering loopholes that allow millionaires to deduct the cost of their private jets, for example.
But these adjustments aren’t enough, in total, to solve the problem. What is required is national sacrifice. Everyone has to suffer a little pain: the wealthy, the middle class and the poor. We need to tweak Social Security (raising the age of entitlement, perhaps, to around 70). We need to replace the current tax code with something that doesn’t contain thousands of exemptions and credits that sophisticated (rich) folks can exploit.
Everyone must pay. The more one makes, the more one should pay. But everyone should pay because we all use the system. We all reap the benefits. Unfortunately, that kind of approach won’t sell until we reach our moment of crisis – until we’re so far in debt that jobs are scarce and the economy is in tatters.
Any politician who advocates this kind of approach will lose the next election because we don’t want to pay until we’re forced to do so. Even then we won’t want to, though we might concede it’s necessary. I wish I had better news. I wish there was an easier way, but I just don’t see us saving ourselves until we’re forced to do it.
I like to breathe. It makes me feel alive. I like my air to be clean too, without the infiltration of chemicals and pollutants. Most people agree. We want air that doesn’t have lots of additives.
You probably knew that was coming.
But … we don’t want it enough. We’re willing to have our air be dirty because we don’t want to pay for clean air. At least, most of us don’t – because clean air costs a lot. Much of our electricity comes from coal-fired or their slightly less dirty cousins, natural gas power plants.
We have lots of coal and natural gas, so when we burn it, we don’t have to pay a lot to recharge our Ipods and Ipads and PCs and run our lights and water heaters and air conditioners.
What we end up with is what economists call high external costs – costs to society that don’t get factored in to the costs we pay. Things like increased instances of asthma and lung cancer and learning disabilities caused by pollutants like lead and mercury.
We refuse to consider nuclear power because we believe it would cost too much to create safe power plants and we don’t have a good system for storing nuclear waste. So instead, we absorb the costs of inefficient power sources and pretend those hidden costs don’t exist.
Plus, our dirty coal – the coal we refuse to burn in this country because it’s not clean – we ship to Asia so they can burn it there, depositing huge amounts of toxins into the atmosphere, where they drift east on the air currents, making their way over the United States, albeit in a somewhat diluted form.
Many of us don’t think we have a problem with dirty air. The pollutants are usually not at what we consider an unsafe level. Our air contains about 78% nitrogen, 21% oxygen, almost 1% argon and about 0.4% carbon dioxide.
That means the amount of pollutants in it must be infinitesimal – parts per million of various contaminants. True, but it doesn’t take much to have a few particles stick to your lungs and trigger an immune response.
Beijing, now they have a problem with dirty air. You can see the smog; you can cut it with a knife. But we don’t have that problem here. Our air is relatively clean.
Except it isn’t. Not really. In 2014, the World Health Organization estimated that 7 million people died (1 in 8 of total global deaths) from exposure to air pollution. Obviously it’s difficult to be precise with a measurement like this, but it’s safe to say that our air could be a lot cleaner.
How? There are lots of ways. Cutting back on trips by car, switching to a cleaner vehicle or lawn mower or cutting the grass less often. Turning the thermostat up in the summer and down in the winter. Turning off lights when you leave a room. Buying fewer products in general since it costs energy to make and transport those products. Flying less often or not at all (if feasible).
There are many other ways to cut back, to clean up our air a little more. Not everyone can use a reel push lawnmower, for example – myself included – though I cut the grass much less often now that I use a power mower.
These are just a few suggestions and they do nothing to address the problem of industrial pollution. But they’re a start. And I like breathing clean air.
We’re going to need to spend a lot more money soon. Infrastructure is crumbling, the population is aging and schools are already under-funded in many areas. We need to spend more on transportation for the increasing number of seniors (as well as people who have chosen not to drive). Not to mention subsidized housing. The 76 million baby boomers are getting old quickly; 10,000 of them turn 65 each day.
These financial pressures will only worsen with the passing of the years. Already, a number of cities have declared bankruptcy, and judges have held that when they do, pensions can be cut. Courts examine what a city must provide (police, fire, maintenance of roads, etc.) and balance that against paying retirees benefits promised years ago and decide to allow cuts for the few so the many won’t have to suffer as much.
States and the federal government are catching up slowly. Within a few years, we’re likely to see a state or two reach a similar fiscal crisis. Continued pressure to cut or at least not raise taxes, combined with the need to create new ways to assist our aging population, will result in pressures that cannot be sustained without either cutting spending or increasing revenue.
And it’s not just the increasing age of the population. There’s also the fact that more people are moving into urban areas than away from them. As growth occurs, more revenue becomes available (theoretically); however, we’ve also seen downward pressure on wages – more part-time jobs and poorer-paying jobs than once existed, and even people moving in with friends or relatives because they can’t find work.
That results in a higher burden with respect to something like transportation. If people are poorer relatively speaking, the ownership of personal vehicles will drop as well. Folks will rely on public transportation, which means more buses and rail projects.
It also means greater pressure on water and sewer systems, many of which, particularly on the east and west coasts, are relatively old. Or power transmission capacity, which likewise faces increasing obsolescence and deterioration.
And I haven’t even mentioned health care. One of the highest growth populations is people over 85 – people who need a disproportionate amount of medical resources compared to the rest of the population.
These are all issues we have to face sooner or later. The politicians don’t want to talk about it, for the most part. They prefer to discuss sexier topics that yield higher emotional responses than fiscal responsibility. But we can’t ignore these problems forever.
Someday soon, we’re going to have to stop governing with only short-term solutions. Our habit of waiting for crises to occur before addressing problems will lead us to a situation where government does nothing but address catastrophes. The idea of being proactive and mitigating our damages to preserve our fiscal stability will be but a dream.
Our leaders will have no time to discuss anything but tragedies. Maybe that’s inevitable. After all, we didn’t evolve as long-term thinkers. But I have to think we can make things a lot easier for ourselves if we just stop governing for today. I don’t even blame politicians for this mindset. We force them into it by voting for those who promise to fix everything without having to pay for it.
They say they can find all the money we need by eliminating waste. But one person’s waste is another person’s livelihood. Every cut is fought bitterly. Both democrats and republicans want to spend every extra penny government receives (for republicans, the spending comes in the form of tax cuts). Long-term planning is a recipe for getting voted out of office. Until we change that, we’re going to be stuck with leaders who have no choice but to devote their time to crises of our own making.
I don’t consider myself a poet, but maybe I should. After all, poetry is about the creative use of language to evoke images and emotions, and I try to do that, perhaps not as prettily as a poet, but with as much flavor as I can.
I think of beauty when I think of poetry – the integration of words into a pleasing and often unpredictable form – and I delight in its presentation even when I don’t quite understand it.
But isn’t that what life is too, the integration of molecules into pleasing and often unpredictable forms that we don’t always understand?
Everything we experience around us, animate or inanimate, produces an emotional reaction, bitter or pleasant. We see a spider and we react with fear, an evolutionary response to creatures that can harm us. We generally don’t think of those creatures as beautiful because our ancient ancestors survived by escaping deadly spiders and that healthy fear became wired into our DNA.
The same holds true for snakes. Both spiders and snakes had the potential to kill us for hundreds of millennia and both did so with stealth. We didn’t see them coming until they were upon us. Then they struck (because we unknowingly invaded their space) and we experienced a jolt of adrenaline.
Spiders and snakes are no more a threat than charging rhinos or lions. Yet we don’t instinctively fear lions and rhinos because our predecessors generally saw and heard them coming. They had time to prepare. Maybe only seconds, but still they had time. So the fear of those creatures never got hard-wired into us.
And yet if you look at a spider or snake under a microscope with enough magnification so that you no longer know you’re seeing a spider or snake and instead you’re just studying patterns and shapes, you likely will find those images pleasing.
My point is, we learn beauty. If spiders delivered excellent health to humans rather than toxins that can kill us, we would consider them beautiful. If snakes brought long life, we would worship them.
Moreover, what is ugly to us in one generation is sometimes considered pleasing in another. Think of rock-and-roll or rap with respect to your grandparents or great-grandparents. They wouldn’t consider those melodies music; they’d generally think of those songs as discordant noise.
We learn to take pleasure in certain experiences despite or perhaps because of our forebears. We rebel against them and create our own beauty. We decide for ourselves what is poetry and what is godawful caterwauling.
Not every person will like everything. Some folks can’t stand Beethoven’s music. Some find Shakespeare boring. I read poems and often ask myself what the hell the poets are talking about.
For example, when Michael Benedikt wrote, “The narcissist’s eye is blue, fringed with white and covered with tempting salad leaves,” [from his poem The Eye] I had no idea what he meant. It’s pleasing nonetheless to put those sounds together in my head.
So I try to at least understand the beauty in everything, even those things I personally find ugly. I don’t always succeed, of course. Some things I’ll just never get. But that’s okay. I’ll just seek elsewhere, find something else to amaze me. I’ll keep looking for new experiences upon which to build my castle in the air.
We think we’re smart. And sometimes we are. Not always, not about everything, but often we are. The bigger question is: does it matter?
For many species, extra intelligence is not a boon to survival. Smarter sharks and smarter rabbits don’t necessarily do better in the wild than their stupider comrades. Nor anteaters. Perhaps because most of their days are spent trying to survive in a hostile world, and digging for grubs, for example, doesn’t require a better system than has been employed by anteaters for millennia.
So when the smart squirrel contemplates a better system for storing food for the winter, he’s diminishing the amount of time he would otherwise be spending on actually caching food for the harsher weather.
But for humans, extra intelligence is almost always an advantage. The smarter among us are better able to discern the safer or better path through life. They find ways to manipulate their environment to achieve greater wealth so they can better provide for themselves and their families.
They aren’t necessarily happier, because increased intelligence has almost nothing to do with happiness. In fact, I might argue, the smarter one is, the more difficult it is to be happy. A smart woman sees more of the suffering in the world than her less educated peers and if she is unable to ease that suffering to a noticeable degree, she suffers the more for her knowledge.
Consider people with Down syndrome or other intellectual disabilities. It’s rare that they seem unhappy with their lives. Because their wishes perhaps are fewer, their satisfaction seems greater. They may not live as long. They may not achieve vast wealth, but they’re happy and that’s what most of us strive for.
Or note the lowly dog, the pet that relies on us for its existence. These poor creatures beg us for food, sleep half the day, and accomplish little except for bringing us joy. But are they really less intelligent than us or do we just think of them that way?
We think of intelligence in certain ways, linking it to communication with people. Because dogs don’t speak, we believe we’re smarter than they are. But dogs communicate with scent they way we communicate with words. Their noses are many thousands of times more sensitive than ours, so they interpret their environment through their noses.
If we tried that, we would be blithering idiots. We couldn’t survive if we were forced to rely on our noses for information about the world.
Or consider sound. Some creatures hear vastly better than us – dolphins and bats being the most cited examples of animals that rely on sound for understanding and manipulating their habitat.
It’s only because we have trouble communicating with these species that we consider them inferior. But how do they see it? Do they have as much trouble communicating with us as we have communicating with them? Perhaps they know us as well as they wish to. Our dogs let us know when they’re hungry and when they want to go outside, when they’re happy and when they’re upset or scared or angry.
And zookeepers learn how to distinguish whether the animals in their care are doing well by the myriad signals those creatures send. The more time they spend with them, the more they come to understand their moods and wants.
So perhaps their intelligence is not less than ours, just different. Perhaps we need to look at intelligence in a different way. We know that for humans, extra intelligence is a boon to survival, so we ought to try to be lifelong learners. We ought to study our world and our fellow creatures with an eye to understanding them – not so we can manipulate or dominate them, but so we can better appreciate them.
Water is the most important substance on Earth – the one element we believe is absolutely essential to life – and yet we disrespect it all the time. Why?
We all agree that clean water is vital. Even the most deranged of madmen concedes that we need clean water for drinking and bathing, to prevent disease and maintain the healthy balance of our planetary ecosystems.
But the devil, they say, is in the details – and so we differ on how to achieve that goal.
Yes, the oil industry says, clean water is important. That’s why we inject polluted water (a byproduct of fracking) deep underground. We make sure this dirty water is nowhere near the aquifers and water tables beneath the surface. We have tremendous confidence that the earth will filter this contaminated water before it leaches into groundwater sources.
Yes, the politicians say, clean water is vital. But it’s also vital that we keep taxes low to maintain economic growth. So we can’t raise the money we need to remove the lead pipes that service older, poorer communities, poisoning our nation’s most vulnerable children. And we can’t regulate business too heavily or we’ll lose it to some other county/state/nation that doesn’t demand absolutely pure water discharges.
Yes, the manufacturing industry says, clean water is critical, but our process yields a certain amount of wastewater that must be disposed of in some manner. We take the greatest precautions when dumping our water to ensure that it goes into holding ponds where it can’t escape unless there’s a flood or some other unforeseeable disaster (like a lining failure) that releases the contaminated water into the river.
Yes, the farmers say, clean water is vital. But animals are naturally going to relieve themselves outside. Plus, the pesticides and fertilizers and antibiotics we use are mostly safe and we can’t build extensive barriers to keep these chemicals out of our lakes and streams because we need that land to farm/ranch. If you take away our ability to earn a living, we can’t grow the corn or raise the chickens you need to survive.
Yes, we individuals say, clean water is of great significance, but we’re already overtaxed and we don’t want to have to pay more for our clothing, food, electricity, gasoline, housing. How much harm can I do by pouring this used motor oil into the ground or taking an extra long shower or fertilizing my lawn three times a year or flying to my timeshare in Orlando every winter or driving my SUV that gets only 20 miles to the gallon?
Those people in Asia and Africa – they’re the problem. Burning dirty coal (that we sold them), peeing in rivers (because they can’t afford houses, let alone bathrooms), cutting down trees (to get more space to farm or cook their food or just keep warm at night). They should stop what they’re doing so we don’t get acid rain.
Yes, that’s the solution. You other people need to stop polluting your water so mine will be clean.
Joyce Kilmer famously wrote: “I think that I shall never see a poem lovely as a tree.” And despite many criticisms of both poem and poet, it remains to this day one of the best-known pieces of poetry. People who know nothing else about poetry can often recite at least that line if not the entire poem. One of the reasons for its longevity is the fact that so many people for so many years made fun of it.
But another reason, I think, is that trees really are beautiful. The more we study them, the more we discover the amazing things they can do. A wild fig tree in South Africa, for example, was found to have tree roots that went 400 feet down. Tree roots work symbiotically with the rhizosphere, exchanging nutrients with the soil so that both tree and soil around it are healthier.
Trees can lift as much as 100 gallons of water a day out of the ground and discharge it into the atmosphere, making them fantastic partners in reducing storm water runoff. Trees filter air pollution, water pollution and toxic waste in the soil.
Trees properly placed around buildings can reduce air conditioning needs by as much as 30 percent and save 30-40 percent in heating costs as well. Not to mention that trees are great at absorbing carbon dioxide, collecting as much as a ton of carbon dioxide by the time they’re 40 years old. And what do they do with it? They supply oxygen to us.
We now know that some trees release aerosols that attract pollinators and repel threats. For example, evergreens emit trillions of pounds of terpenes (a terpene is a kind of isoprene that acts as a natural pesticide) a year. The world’s forests emit 500 million tons of isoprenes annually, many of which act as a natural sunscreen for the planet.
Studies have shown that people who spend time among trees have lower concentrations of cortisol (a stress chemical) as well as lower pulse rates and lower blood pressure. In addition, green space – not just trees but other plants as well – has been shown to be helpful for children with attention deficit hyperactivity disorder.
Conversely, the loss of trees has had a detrimental effect on the world. Floods have become far more frequent lately, partly because of deforestation, because when there are fewer trees to soak up the water, it rushes along the surface of the ground, causing much more damage than it otherwise might.
More than 90 percent of America’s old growth forest is gone. 80 percent of the world’s old growth forest is gone. And we’re still cutting more trees every day, perhaps as many as 3-6 billion a year out of forests (not counting the cutting of trees from plantations).
What does that mean for us? Certainly not good things. Increased droughts, increased floods, more diseases, increased warming of the planet.
The good news is that it’s not irreversible. We can stop the cutting; we can replant. We just have to want to do it. The first step is understanding how important trees are … and how beautiful – lovelier than poems even.
The loner as hero is not a uniquely American concept, but it’s an idea that Americans have embraced as distinctly ours. It began, for us, as the image of the cowboy conquering the West, taking on all comers as he fought for freedom and justice and the American way.
Superman, Batman, Wonder Woman: all loners. They all work outside the system doing what the system can’t do as they bring order and civility to the rest of the country/world. But it isn’t just comic books and movies that promote the idea of the loner.
Look at literature. The Great Gatsby – while largely devoted to an exploration of the American dream and the decadence that arises from its overzealous pursuit – also presents Gatsby as a loner, a man outside the system, looking in, trying to find a path to the metaphorical riches of Daisy Buchanan.
Huck Finn and Atticus Finch are loners, as are Augie March and Holden Caulfield. And don’t forget Shane, who takes being a loner to a new level. We celebrate these loners, these individuals who make their way in the world without the help of, and often despite the obstacles placed by, the world at large.
We come to see loners as a special kind of American, a special kind of hero. We embrace the notion that they are smarter, tougher, stronger, better than the rest of the people who populate their universe.
But it’s important to point out that the loner mythology is just that – mythology. No one lives in a vacuum. And great literature does not always define reality accurately. It presents a slice of life, a temporary image, and at times we all row upstream. Yet we can’t only row against the current. We can’t refuse to go along with the crowd every moment of every day.
We rely on others for roads, food, clothing, shelter, medicine, safety or … (well, you get the idea). Everything we accomplish, we accomplish in part because of the efforts of others who have come before us. We are creatures of society and we are far more dependent on that society than we are often willing to admit.
The loner mythology even colors our politics. We want the candidate who will buck the system. The maverick. The outsider. The loner who will ride into town and whip the nasty politicians into shape.
However, true outsiders rarely make it to the inner chambers of our political system and when they do, they struggle against the entrenched special interests who run things. What does that mean for us? It means we need to recognize that it takes more than one loner to change our world. It takes a community of us, working together, to achieve the change we desire.
Loners can’t help us. Only we can help us.
Hope – We think of it fondly, considering it a positive emotion, and often it is. Look, for example, at the frenzy that surrounds a large Powerball jackpot, when millions of people who don’t normally play suddenly decide to buy a ticket for a chance to win $500 million or more.
The odds of winning don’t change: only the amount awarded to the winner. So even though the chance of taking home the big prize remains constant (at around 1 in 292 million), our minds make a determination that we now ought to play because the increased payoff is worth the risk.
We buy a ticket or two and then we dream of a new house or a round-the-world vacation, new cars and boats and parties for friends and families. We dream of retirement and fancy clothes and spur-of-the-moment decisions to fly to Hawaii or Tahiti. It’s fun, at least for most of us, because we haven’t invested too much into those dreams – a few dollars at most.
But there is a darker side to hope. Consider the compulsive gambler or the delusional player who somehow becomes convinced that he is going to win and raids his retirement account to buy 5,000 tickets. The odds for him now become 5,000 in 292 million – still pretty damn slim.
We see this in other aspects of life as well. We hope for a better future all the time. Sometimes that hope is justified (not necessarily because the future is going to get better, but because it’s reasonable to believe it will). And sometimes that hope is unrealistic. A short 60-year-old man should not have hope that he can become an Olympic volleyball player.
If he does, we say that he’s suffering from a delusion. But where does hope end and delusion begin? There’s the problem. Many things that seemed impossible have come to pass – like the 72-year-old woman in India who gave birth to her first child after receiving IVF treatments (and donor eggs, most likely).
It clearly wasn’t wrong for her to hope for that result despite her inability to have children at a younger age because she ultimately succeeded. So we look at something like that and say it’s never too late to hope. It’s never time to give up.
And yet, sometimes we should. Sometimes giving up hope is the best thing we can do for ourselves. I’m not saying we should do it quickly or before the realistic opportunity for success becomes delusional, but we have to know when hope is harming us, when continuing to pursue a goal that the rest of the world sees as silly is in fact silly.
For example, I used to get extremely frustrated at my golf game. I played a fair amount and thought I should be better than I was. I screamed and cursed and threw my clubs over my inability to execute a shot I knew I ought to be able to hit. The game began to eat away at me, making me unhappy.
I knew I had to either quit playing or change my attitude completely and stop caring about my score and my more-than-occasional bad shots. I decided that I liked playing golf with certain friends and family members and that I would rather do that badly than not do it at all. I changed. I gave up hope.
And the result?
I actually became a better golfer. No, I’ll never win any awards for my golf, but my game improved because I stopped putting so much pressure on myself to be perfect. I instead just enjoyed the game and being outside. I played for years afterwards with much more enjoyment as a result of giving up hope. I still play occasionally.
My point is that hope can be both good and bad, and only you can determine whether hope is justified in any specific situation. But you can’t rely exclusively on hope. You also have to consider the odds, do a cost-benefit analysis, or contemplate alternative scenarios to determine how much longer you should hold onto that feeling.
I’m not saying that one should ever give up all hope – just be prepared to give up hope about certain things. It’s okay to still be hopeful of being happy, for example. It’s okay to still hope to be loved until your dying day. But some hopes, some dreams, one must discard before they harm us.
Because when hope dies, it can be an ugly thing if you’re not prepared for it.