Little White Lies

"I don't actually read your blog," he told me. "But it's really good."

I could have asked why he didnn't read it if he really thought it was good. Or I could have asked how he had an opinion about the quality of my blog if he didn't actually read it.  But I didn't feel like going there.

Besides, we both knew he was lying.

The truth, we both knew, was that he read my blog all the time, and that we both thought it sucked.

But I wasn't mad at him for lying to me. He was just trying to be nice.

That's the reason people lie about small, seemingly harmless stuff all the time.

If your significant other asks where you've been, you can't say that you've been out shopping for his or her birthday present, even in the rare case when that's actually true. You can't ever tell someone that they look fat in that dress, even if he's an NFL offensive linemen.

You have to pretend to like your friend's new boyfriend, even if he wears skinny jeans and constantly talks about how all the formerly good rock bands have sold out. You have to pretend to like your friend's girlfriend even when she starts a fight with him about what toppings should go on a salad, and then calls you at 2:00 a.m. to complain about the exchange.

I grew up in Southern Baptist circles hearing that it was always, always, wrong, not to tell the truth. 

That, of course, was a lie.  

The Bible is packed with people who became heroes by lying.  The wise men told King Herod they would report back to him the location where he could find Jesus, that newborn king all the herald angels were harking about. But then they figured out that kings like Herod usually don't just love to come worship challengers to their throne, so they found a detour home.

If the wise men had fallen into that trip, we probably won't include them in our manger scenes (and we certainly wouldn't refer to them as "wise men").  Of course, you'd think baby Jesus could have had the situation covered without needing the wise men resorting to deception, but He moves in mysterious ways.)

In an Old Testament story, Rahab the harlot's is remembered for telling a well-placed lie. Her life was saved because she lied to the locals about not knowing where to find those invading spies she was hiding, who would ultimately conquer the land, spare her life as a reward, and then write flattering words about her in the both the Old Testament and New Testaments. True, they were probably writing the stories in the King James version, but that's still more acclaim than you and I have ever achieved.

Jacob lied to Esau and to his father Isaac. Jacob's uncle lied to him, tricking him into marrying the ugly duckling sister of the woman he'd labored seven years to marry, both of whom happened to be his cousins. But, other than having dueling sets of inbred kids (who sold their brother Joseph and his amazing Technicolor dreamcoat into Egyptian slavery), Jacob still managed to do just fine with his life.  He could never put together a team to go on Family Feud, but that creepy Richard Dawson guy was the host at that point anyway, so it wasn't a big loss.

But that is not my central point.

The point is, that in light of these examples, maybe, just maybe, is it ok to fib sometimes?

Not when you're under oath or part of an investigation, mind you. Not to get away with something you shouldn't have been doing in the first place. But maybe when being a little fuzzy with reality prevents some greater evil directed at someone else?  Or maybe when it spares someone's feelings from unnecessary pain? 

Even those exceptions are tricky, though. If you tell your sensitive nephew that he's a good singer in order to preserve his feelings, he might end getting hurt even worse when he's ridiculed on American Idle as the latest tone-deaf, geeky kid lacking any semblance of self-awareness.

If you befriend the lonely guy at the office and pretend to take an interest in his never-ending stories, he might start coming back twice a day and offering you sneak peaks at his forthcoming comic book series.

Which you would also have to pretend to like.

So what's the answer?

I've thought about it for at least 135 second, and only have one solution: deliberate vagueness.

Open-ended answers prevent you from having to lie to save your friends' feelings, but also save you from directly encouraging whatever bad decision it is that you're trying to avoid having to confront. They also cause the people to whom you speak to think about what the heck you just said,  even after you've left. You remain in their thoughts even after you've gone.

Everyone wins.

"What are you talking about," you might ask? "Can you give me an example of what you mean by 'deliberate vagueness?'"

No.  I'm not going to tell you anything more. You can interpret my previously given answer any way you like.

And that's exactly the point.

Random Thoughts: My Vacuum Cleaner Sucks

I spent most of my narrative energy this week working on my book idea and fighting a sinus infection and bulging disk in my back.  But it's been awhile since I shared another edition of my second-favorite running gimmick for a column, so I figure I can at least give you that.

As always, here they are: Real thoughts. Really random. Let's go!

Is there anything worse than grabbing a cookie that you thought was chocolate chip, taking a bite and discovering those dark spots were actually raisins?  Not only are you left with an inferior cookie, you've wasted an indulgence. Ugh.

The other day I drove by a building that said "Mechanical Pump and Electrical Company." In their front yard was an employee manually pouring out a big bucket of water.  I guess their equipment isn't exactly up-to-date.

People keep expecting me to have strong opinions about the Martin case. But I make it a policy to ignore completely whatever story CNN is obsessing about at the given moment.

The doctor asked me today whether I had a fever. Wasn't it her job to figure that out for me?

If your vacuum cleaner sucks, is that a good thing or a bad thing?

The other day I caught a shuttle bus at the airport. As I climbed aboard, I heard a 400-pound woman tell the guy next to her, "Oh, I've been taking diuretics for years."  I bet she's fun at parties.

Rule of Life #162: the availability of mindlessly entertaining programming on tv at any given moment will always be directly proportional to your need, at that same moment, to get things done. Also, the amount of noise your neighbors are making late at night will be directly proportional to your need to get some sleep.

There are three kinds of people in the world: those who can count and those who can't.

If your son is a priest, do you have to call him "Father"? 

A friend just posted a facebook article about a scientific finding that those who have a friend they could call about anything at 4 a.m. tend to live longer than those who don't. Fair enough. But I can't help but think that people who are asleep at 4 a.m. would probably fare even better.

Would anyone complain if we took a day away from July and gave it to September?

Summer is pointless when you're an adult. 

Sign you're getting old number #146: someone asks you how you spent your weekend and you can't decide whether it was more significantly diminished by your achy back or your sinus infection. 

I just saw a commercial for an app on the Kindle Fire where parents can set the device to turn itself off after the kid plays on it for a predetermined length of time, so that the parents don't have to manually raise their children. And word is that the next Kindle Fire will have a retractable arm that can spank your kids each time they try to turn it back on.

Why do hotels always tuck the sheets in so tightly into the beds that you can't even raise your feet up underneath them? And how come the hotel provides you with shampoo and conditioner and occasionally mouthwash but never toothpaste?

That's it for this week. I'll back next week with something less random. Please come back then, provided that your Kindle hasn't automatically shut itself off by that point.

Dealing with Lawyers

I've often said that the worst part of being an attorney is having to deal with other lawyers all day.

If anyone were giving out medals for bad opposing counsel stories, my collection would win me at least a bronze.

The most obnoxious lawyer I've ever encountered was from St. Louis. When I was in private practice there, one of my first depositions there involved a lawsuit with three parties involved.  I don't remember what the case was about (and I couldn't tell you if I did), but the first deposition we took in it was something I'll never forget.

The parties sat down and we waded through the opening formalities, albeit with noticeable tension between the other two lawyers.  Then about two minutes into the proceedings, one of the opposing counsels, a plump, grey-haired, haggard looking man of about 60, started making faces at the other counsel as she questioned his witness.

Really.

The old man stuck his tongue out.  He rolled his eyes and puffed up his cheeks. At first I thought that maybe he was having a seizure, but then he started mouthing the words of opposing counsel's questions in a mocking fashion after she said them. 

Judges don't normally come to depositions, so the only people present for this display were us three attorneys, a court reporter, and the crazy attorney's own witness.  None of us were quite sure how to respond. Even the defendant looked more than a little confused by what was happening.

As for me, I sat silent.  What to do when one opposing counsel starts making silly, childhood faces at another one was not one of the things that ever came up during law school.

Unless maybe I was out that day.

So I just continued to sit there stunned. I was only a couple years out of school, I still owed $60,000 in student loan debt, and I came to the realization that I'd spent a fortune and my life's ambition to be part of a profession that closely resembled clown college.

I became a lawyer to argue for justice and truth. But here, I found myself the middle man in a playground dispute that seemed likely to be won by whoever could make the most effective cartoon face or schoolyard putdown.

This sort of thing never happened in any of the Grisham books. 

The counsel being mocked, a 40ish year-old woman, lodged an objection for the recorded transcript.  But the petulant old man continued to make faces and indecipherable noises undeterred. He verbalized nothing inappropriate that could be recorded for the transcript, except that at one point he called her "honey." His uncanny ability to be annoying without leaving demonstrable proof of his unprofessionalism showed that this was clearly not the first time he'd tried this trick.

But by his use of the "honey" line, it was suddenly clear to me what was happening, and why.

After no more than 5 minutes, the woman gave up, called off the deposition. Before the recording stopped, I narrated for the record everything that had happened in the prior five minutes and admonished this jerk for wasting our time. 

But the transcript didn't reveal anything directly from that obnoxious old man other than some language that was politically incorrect and the unverifiable accusations from me and the other attorney.

The woman later filed a motion for sanctions, but the judge didn't want to deal with it, so he just issued a warning and reset the deposition for some other day.

The scene was completely ridiculous, but it drove home and important point that I've carried with me throughout my legal career: too often in the legal profession there are no real repercussions for being a complete jerk. As a result, attorneys often feel emboldened to act like complete jerks, although generally in a manner at least slightly less childish.

It still aggravates me when opposing counsels break basic rules of human decency, but, thankfully, I've found a way to deal with it over the years. 

When I start to get annoyed at some ridiculous tactic my opposing counsel attempts, I stop myself, take deep breaths, pray for God's wisdom, and re-focus on my greater purpose of helping to bring justice to the world. 

Then I make a funny cartoon face. 

The Parable of Abed and the Shepherd

There once was a man named Abed who lived a happy life in a small village by the desert.  Abed had a good job and good friends and a fluffy dog named Cedric and was happy with his life. At least he was happy with his life until he came home one day to discovery that his house was in pieces.

Cedric was fine, but parts of Abed's house were strewn about everywhere.  Abed didn't know what happened or why, but he blamed the wind and began gathering the pieces together.

What else could he do?

Most of the first pieces he found had blown into the desert, so Abed starting rebuilding his house there. Enough material was left so that it wasn't long before Abed had food and shelter and the basic necessities to live in the new house he was building. The spot where the parts had blown was still close enough to town to see his friends and go to work everyday, so life kept on as usual.

Except that now, Abed lived in the desert.

For the next year, Abed slowly and painfully rebuilt his house, finding a few new materials every few days.

The only thing that sustained Abed during that year were his friends and Cedric. It turned out that Abed was an adept dog trainer, and every night Abed taught Cedric a new trick. Abed had treated Cedric kindly for all the years since he had found Cedric on his doorstep as a puppy, but it was during that year in the desert when Abed devoted almost all his free attention to Cedric.  Cedric had never learned much in the years before, but when Abed gave him his almost undivided attention (when he wasn't rebuilding his house), Cedric learned amazing tricks beyond what anyone had ever thought possible.

Soon, word spread about the tricks Abed had taught Cedric. Abed's old village lined up to watch the show when he and Cedric passed through town, and people invited Abed into their own villages for him to teach their dogs too. It didn't hurt that Abed loved to tell stories about Cedric and anything else and could entertain the people even when Cedric was tired.

Abed still didn't like living in the desert. But because of Cedric, he was a success.

After almost a full year of collecting spare parts he found scattered across the desert, Abed had finally almost rebuilt his house. But a few weeks before it was finished, Cedric disappeared. 

Abed looked everywhere: in the house, throughout the desert and even back in the village, but he    couldn't find Cedric. Abed yelled for Cedric as loudly as he could for weeks, but Cedric had vanished without a trace.

Abed was crushed. The only thing that has sustained Abed for the last year had disappeared without warning.

Abed took it harder than anyone could understand.  Other people asked Abed to train their dogs, but he said no. He knew it wouldn't be the same.  And deep down, he didn't really want to be a professional dog trainer. He had something special with Cedric that he could never replicate in another setting.

Abed had not only lost Cedric. He had not only lost his source of comfort.  Without Cedric, he had lost his purpose.

In the midst of his sadness, Abed kept working on his house. When he finally finished, he realized that he was all alone in a house in the desert with nothing left to do with his time.

He thought of selling it, or even tearing it down, but he wasn't sure where else to go. The village he had left the year before had changed while he was gone, and it didn't feel like home anymore. He sometimes dreamed of life in the distant villages he saw on the desert horizon, but that would mean starting over yet again.

A few months later, there was a big celebration in his old village. Abed wanted to go, but there was a rare desert storm that day, so Abed just sat on his porch and stared. As he was sitting, he saw a rain-soaked shepherd walking by.

The shepherd looked familiar, but Abed couldn't place where he had seen him before.

"Hello, friend," the shepherd said. "Why do you live in this desert when the village is only a few miles away?"

"My house blew down," Abed said. "And the wind took most of the parts here, so this is where I had to rebuild."

The shepherd paused before responding. 

"The wind didn't blow your house down, and the wind didn't blow the parts here," the shepherd answered back. "I am a carpenter as well as a shepherd, and I am the one who built that house of yours in the village."  The shepherd paused again, this time for a moment longer.  "I am also the one who tore it down," he said.

"You did what?" Abed cried, rising from his chair.

"I tore the house down, but I also helped rebuild it," the shepherd said. "The wind didn't bring the building materials here. I left the parts you needed every day in a place where you could find them.  Had you decided to rebuild in the village, I would have left them there. But since you started rebuilding here, I brought them to the place where you were."

"Why would you do that? And why did you make you make me go through all this trouble? Do you have any idea what the last year of my life has been like?  I'm not even the same person anymore that I was a year ago!"

"Indeed you are not," the shepherd said. "You are a now a person who knows how to build a house, a person who knows how to survive in a desert, and a person who has seen what he can do through perseverance. Imagine what else is possible!"

"But you've left me here in this desert!," Abed protested. "Why?"

"I brought you here to start picking up the pieces, but you are the one who chose to stay. As I said, I would have brought the remaining parts to you wherever I could find you. But yes, I lead people here sometimes. From the desert, you can see more clearly for miles in all directions.

"And think of Cedric," the shepherd continued. "You would have never achieved so much with him in that village, amidst so many distractions."

"Did you take Cedric too?"

"I didn't take Cedric. But there's something you don't know. I've known Cedric even longer than you have. In fact, he was mine as a puppy before I left him on your doorstep. I let you keep him because you took good care of him and I knew what you could accomplish together. He left because you had taught him all you could.

"I showed him an opportunity. I didn't make him go, but I didn't stop him. What I showed him was exactly what I had planned for him all along. If you let me, I'll do the same for you. Even today, I've walked through the rain to talk to you, because it was the first day you'd stopped working long enough to listen."

"Why would I ever trust you about anything?" Abed asked. "You've taken away every single thing that ever mattered to me."

"You will see Cedric again, somewhere down the line and his journey will make sense to you then," the shepherd said. "But until then, what if I gave you a new dog to train? One that could learn even more tricks than what you taught Cedric."

Abed frowned. He had loved Cedric, but he didn't really want to be a professional dog trainer. He cared for Cedric because Cedric had fallen on his doorstep and they were a perfect fit for each other. With a different dog it wouldn't be the same.

"I see that isn't what you're looking for," the shepherd said. "So what if I found you a new house in one of those distant villages you see on the desert horizon? Or what if I helped you find a new house in your old village, or even helped move your new house back there? What would I have to do for you in order for you to trust me?"

Abed sat quietly. He knew that he was in some ways a better person for all he had been through. He had learned how to build a house. He had achieved more with Cedric that he ever thought possible. He wasn't sure what he really wanted at this point, but he knew that it wasn't a new dog, house, or village, or any other gift the shepherd might magically give him as some kind of Karmic Consolation Prize.

Besides, he was still mad at this stranger who saw fit to cause all these changes without so much as asking.

"It doesn't really matter what I want," Abed said. "My plans don't seem to matter much lately. Why don't you just show me what you, in your infinite wisdom, had in mind?"

The shepherd smiled a wry smile and pointed across the plains. When he did, the gray skies cleared and Abed saw more than he ever had.

Near the horizon were families trying to build houses, but who didn't know how. Closer in, there were dogs running wild, while their owners tried in vain to control them. Just a few yards away were travelers wandering through the desert, sweltering and miserable with thirst.

Abed was moved. He had never noticed any of these groups before.

He realized that he might not want to build another house, but maybe he could teach someone else how to do it. He might never want to train another dog himself, but he could help owners who were about to give up to break through. Abed might not like living in the desert, but he had learned enough while there to tell others the tricks to survive while they passed through it. Maybe he could even plant enough grass seeds to bring the desert and the village closer together.

And if Abed spent his time doing all these things, he wouldn't have much time left over to spend in the desert anyway.

Abed suddenly realized that all this was what he really wanted. His dream was not to build houses or to train dogs or to move to new places, but to share the story of how he done these things. In the process, he would find purpose in all that had happened to him and maybe help anyone else for whom his story might sound a little bit familiar.

Abed turned back to reveal his revelation to the shepherd, and ask for the shepherd's help in making it all come to pass. But the shepherd was gone.

Abed stood puzzled for a moment. 

Then he realized that nothing stood in his way.



 

Stupid People

Here's what I don't get about stupid people: they never seem to realize that they are stupid.

But they are everywhere. 

Your family members have strong but uninformed opinions. Your neighbors have racist friends who come over to their cookouts. Your boss gives you instructions that don't withstand intellectual scrutiny. Your co-workers have such a strong political bias that every topic comes back to blaming either Obama or  George W for whatever it is they are complaining about.

Homer Simpson once said that there was no room on this earth for someone with a 105 IQ. Sadly, he was right.

I'm not speaking about uneducated people. There are plenty of people without formal educations who have common sense.  But sadly, the dumbest people you'll meet are the ones most likely to think that they alone are the Universe's Lone Source of Truth.

There are many kinds of stupid people. But those who are dumb and proud of it are the worst.

Dumb, Proud and Sure

Read a good, long facebook rant lately? There's a five-percent chance it came from your friend who is a brilliant ideologue and  95 percent chance it came from an idiot who felt the world needed to hear their unique thoughts despite the author's failure to master punctuation, the spelling of two-syllable words, or the distinction between "your" and "you're." These types cross all political perspectives, but ironically many of them seem to be the people most likely to have strong opinions that no language other than English be spoken in America in any circumstance, even though they themselves have yet to master it.

These are the people for whom the depth of their knowledge and the strength of their opinions are entirely disproportionate.  These are the stupid people who make up for their lack of intellectual rigor by clinging to every opinion they possess as a moral certainty, as though the strength of a wacky belief somehow makes it more likely to be true.

It's hard to have a conversation with one of this type without hearing an opinion based on three or four assumptions that are provably false.  But if you point out a logical flaw in their argument, they will respond by slightly changing the subject to shift the argument in a different direction.

I had an interaction like this the other day:

Stupid Person:  The problem with America today is that we've got a Muslim President who is an atheist, and he's only making laws to help minorities.

Me: The President doesn't actually make laws. And if he's a Muslim, then he can't also be an atheist. But actually...

Stupid Person: Well, I just think we need to go back to the days when America was free.

You can't argue with logic like that.  You literally can't--especially on facebook.  That's a lesson I learned years ago the hard way.  It's best to just walk away from these conversations.  But not all stupid people are so easily avoided. For instance:

The Idiot

These people are just dumb.  Unlike the first category, these people don't mean to inflict their Stupid on you, they just can't help it. They are less blameworthy but also more likely to ruin your day. 

When you buy a 99 cent drink and 75 cent candy bar and the cashier tells you without blinking that your total is $3.25, you know you are in the midst of an idiot.  You do the math for them, but they argue that the nearly $2.00 difference is because you forgot to include sales tax on your $1.64 purchase. You point out that sales tax is only nine percent, and to get the total to $3.25 it would have to be 200 percent. You get a blank stare, and a repeated point to the total on the register.

Daily life is full of these people, because they never get promoted beyond performing the menial tasks that fill our days. These are the customer service reps who tell you that you can report your internet outage online. This is the insurance rep who tells you that your policy was cancelled because you didn't renew, and that no renewal notice was sent because your policy was cancelled.

They live in a perfectly circular pool of logic, never quite coming around full circle. It isn't their fault that they are stupid, but that doesn't make dealing with them any easier. 

Some people are born stupid.  Others get there as a lifestyle choice.  The idiots are the former. The latter are...

the Happily Stupid Slackers

They also answer the phone often for large companies. When you call to say your bill is wrong, they refuse to investigate beyond looking at it and confirming that you owe whatever it says.

When you call a restaurant to ask if it will be open Christmas Eve, this is the employee who asks you what day it falls on and then quotes you the regular schedule for that day without giving the Christmas Eve issue a second thought. 

These are the computer service techs who can walk you through their pre-written script, but are useless when asked a question outside of it, and are unable to even start the script from page 3 when you tell them what you've already tried.

Whatever your problem is, these are the people who might have the wherewithal to help, but they choose not to, coasting instead through life on the logic of the information directly in front of them.  These people are the people who adopt every single belief their parents have, not because they've explored and rejected the alternatives, but because they don't want to put in the effort.

These people don't have to be stupid. They just choose to be.

I could give you more examples, but I'd prefer to just rest of the skimpy few paragraphs I've written above.

Anyway, the people who choose not to know anything are pretty much the opposite of...

The Secret Expert

Standing next to the microwave causes cancer. You shouldn't go to sleep with wet hair, or you'll get pneumonia. The experts say you should chew each bite of food 48 times, and drink 8 glasses of water every day. Statistics show that cats whose names start with T live longer than others.  The government says it isn't conducting studies on alien life forms, but my uncle knows a guy who told me they are.  And trust me, they are.

You can't argue with someone whose opinions are supported by unnamed experts in every field whose opinions can be introduced on a whim to support whatever proposition is up for debate. Eight out of ten surveys show that this is the hardest kind of argument to win.

The experts all agree.

But what about?

Everyone Else

Everyone has an illogical habit and a few thoughts that don't always add up.  Yesterday, I brought my lunch to work, heated it and then absentmindedly put it back in my lunch container uneaten and brought it home, so perhaps I'm not the best person to write this column.

I do stupid things more often I'd like.  That's why I don't blame people for being stupid. I only blame people for being stupid and obnoxious.

If you don't want to be one of those people, just consider that if don't know very much about a given subject, maybe it's not a good idea to have a really strong opinion about it. If you don't have an informed source for your opinion, maybe you should look into getting one. But not one that you just made up on the spot.

Even if you do think you know a lot about a subject, it still might be a good idea to listen to the other person's side of the argument. 

That is, unless the person on the other side fits into one of those categories above.

Programming Note

I'm traveling for work this week and need a little break to recharge my batteries anyway.  So no blog this week, and I'll be taking the next couple weeks off after that to try to think of some better material.

So have a great early summer and I'll see you back here right after the week after Independence Day.

One Day

You probably came here expecting a new blog post. If so, you're slightly out of luck because I'm slightly out of ideas.

I had planned to use this space to announce that I was taking off the month of June to recharge my creative batteries.  After all, I took the whole summer off last year, so I could spin cutting it down to a month-long vacation this year as progress on my part. I could portray myself as the sacrificial hero who trades the majority of a theoretical lazy summer of drinks on pleasant patios to slave away for the benefit of the masses.  Or at least the dozens.

But there are so many people I know going through so much turmoil, that I can't help but think that there's some small chance that one of them was looking forward to the possibility of getting some encouragement, or maybe just a laugh, from this week's new post. And when you have as few readers as I do, you can't afford to alienate any of them.

So if you are one of those people who came here slightly broken, I can relate.  Truth is, I've been kind of down lately too. 

June is a hot, boring month. When there are lots of things hitting at once and nothing on the calendar to balance out the turmoil, the compilation of crap can be overwhelming.

So if you came here in need of 10 minutes of refuge from daily life then your in luck--I do too.

Sometimes I quote U2 lyrics in this space. Tonight, because I've got nothing else, I'm dropping my standards considerably and using lyrics from Christina Aguilera and Pitbull.

I'm sorry.  They (the lyrics, that is) have been stuck in my head all week.

One day when the light is glowing
I'll be in my castle golden
But until the gates are open
I just want to feel this moment.

Everyone has a "one day" floating around in their head.  It's the human condition to believe that we are just one step away from peace and happiness.  

Maybe it's that one day money won't be an issue, or that you'll find true love or that your marriage won't seem so hard.  Maybe you're not where you want to be, either geographically, physically, occupationally or relationally. Or maybe you're hoping that one day the hurt that is stinging you so much won't feel so sharp, or that you can make amends for bad choices, or that your situation, whatever it is, will have a happy ending.

One day. Somewhere over the rainbow.

Unless your number gets called tomorrow, your "one day" will probably eventually come (although maybe not in the way you were hoping), and things will get better.  And then it won't be long before your "one day" will become something else, because that's just the way we're wired. 

But in the meantime, make it a point to spend some time with someone who loves you. Give yourself permission to enjoy an irresponsible frivolous pleasure or two. Enjoy a few moments, even if you can't enjoy anything more.

Life goes wrong sometimes, and everyone's life could be better. 

But I once heard that our living life is like driving at night: our headlights only see ahead to the next curve.  But once we get through it, more often than not, we'll have just enough light to navigate the next curve as well.  And then the one after that.

Until our light is glowing, and we're in that castle golden, we just have to deal with the road one curve at a time.