Donald Miller's Blog, page 103

A New Approach to the Table

In the last couple years, I’ve found that many of the most sacred moments of my life have taken place around the table. Young or old, male or female, married or single, I think the table matters for all of us. And I think the table matters whether we’re talking about a formal dining room set with matching china or a beat-up coffee table in a first apartment. What matters isn’t the food or the table or the settings. What matters is that we create spaces to see and hear one another, to learn one another’s stories, not just the textable sound bytes.

I want you to tell someone you love them, and dinner’s at six. I want you to throw open your front door and welcome the people you love into the inevitable mess with hugs and laughter. I want you to light a burner on the stove, to chop and stir and season with love and abandon. Gather the people you love around your table and feed them with love and honesty and creativity. Feed them with your hands and the flavors and smells that remind you of home and beauty and the best stories you’ve ever heard, the best stories you’ve ever lived.

There will be a day when it all falls apart. My very dear friend lost her mom this year. That same month, another friend’s marriage ended, shot through with lies and heartbreak. A friend I hadn’t talked to in ages called late one Sunday night to ask me how to get through a miscarriage. “The bleeding,” she said, “has already begun.” As I write, a dear family friend lies in a coma in a hospital bed.

These are things I can’t change. Not one of them. Can’t fix, can’t heal, can’t put the broken pieces back together. But what I can do is offer myself, wholehearted and present, to walk with the people I love through the fear and the mess. That’s all any of us can do. That’s what we’re here for, the presence, the listening, the praying with and for on the days when it all falls apart, when life shatters in our hands.

The table is where we store up for those days, where we log minutes and hours building something durable and strong that gets tested in those terrible split seconds. And the table is where we return to stitch our hearts back together after the breaking.

*Photo by Cargo Collective

I want you to stop running from thing to thing to thing, and to sit down at the table, to offer the people you love something humble and nourishing, like soup and bread, like a story, like a hand holding another hand while you pray. We live in a world that values us for how fast we go, for how much we accomplish, for how much life we can pack into one day. But I’m coming to believe it’s in the in-between spaces that our lives change, and that the real beauty lies there.

Most of the time, I eat like someone’s about to steal my plate, like I can’t be bothered to chew or taste or feel, but I’m coming to see that the table is about food, and it’s also about time. It’s about showing up in person, a whole and present person, instead of a fragmented, frantic person, phone in one hand and to-do list in the other. Put them down, both of them, twin symbols of the modern age, and pick up a knife and a fork. The table is where time stops. It’s where we look people in the eye, where we tell the truth about how hard it is, where we make space to listen to the whole story, not the textable sound bite.

We don’t come to the table to fight or to defend. We don’t come to prove or to conquer, to draw lines in the sand or to stir up trouble. We come to the table because our hunger brings us there. We come with a need, with fragility, with an admission of our humanity. The table is the great equalizer, the level playing field many of us have been looking everywhere for. The table is the place where the doing stops, the trying stops, the masks are removed, and we allow ourselves to be nourished, like children. We allow someone else to meet our need. In a world that prides people on not having needs, on going longer and faster, on going without, on powering through, the table is a place of safety and rest and humanity, where we are allowed to be as fragile as we feel. If the home is a body, the table is the heart, the beating center, the sustainer of life and health. Come to the table.

From Storyline:

Our dear friend Shauna Niequist released a new book yesterday. If you enjoy her writing on this blog, we’d recommend you pick up a copy of Bread & Wine. Here’s what Don had to say about the book…

“Bread & Wine is a new book about an ancient meal, but more than a meal, a book about the people seated at the table, and about the laughing, and about the joy of saying hello and the pain of saying good-bye. After reading this book you’ll feel as you do driving away from dinner with a friend — grateful and full.”

A New Approach to the Table is a post from: Storyline Blog

An Incredible Reminder of How Short Life Really Is

I’ve always been fascinated by that verse in the book of James that says our lives pass like a vapor. That’s a realization hard to internalize. I believe life is eternal, but I don’t believe we have a whole lot of time in this phase, the walk around on earth phase. I wish I could spend less time feeling the urgency of things that aren’t actually urgent and more time exchanging meaning with those people and causes that matter.

The Bible also speaks of the wisdom of numbering our days.

I’m just back from a beautiful wedding in Southern California. What I love about weddings and funerals is they remind us, in very different ways, about how short our lives really are. A funeral teaches us it ends. A wedding teaches us that in order to experience meaning we have to make decisions. We can’t keep looking at the menu forever, nor can we eat everything on it at once.

• • •

I found this nearly unknown video that helped me realize how short our lives actually are. I wanted to share it with you. It’s a film made by Jeroen Wolf who took to the streets of Amsterdam and asked people to look into the camera and state their age. It begins with a baby and ends with a woman in her hundredth year.

It’s only two minutes long, but the amazing thing is it feels just like life. It starts slow as though we are going to walk the earth forever, then suddenly at around twenty-seven, the voices change and the faces are suddenly adult. Then suddenly everybody seems old, then suddenly older, then as though they are in their final years, then it’s over.

The scary thing is life feels very long and by the time you realize it’s short, you’ve lived most of it.

After watching this two-minute clip, I wanted to live a life of deeper meaning. I wanted to do the work I love, the work that helps people. I wanted to give more away. I wanted to hold the woman I love. I wanted to read more poems. I wanted to plant something that would grow after I was gone. I didn’t want my name on anything, at least not anything that didn’t represent love.

What would you do if you only had one-hundred years to live?

An Incredible Reminder of How Short Life Really Is is a post from: Storyline Blog

How to Get Along with an Introvert

Just started reading Susan Cain’s book Quiet, for which I am thankful. Cain is a terrific writer and her book is already gaining acclaim for explaining to about 60% of the world how the other 40% live. That is, Cain explains to extroverts what these quiet, I don’t want to go out tonight, introverts are really thinking.

I’m an introvert. I can spend a month alone in a cabin (and have, many times) and never even dream of getting lonely. In fact, I recharge by being alone. That said, being alone for long periods of time isn’t healthy for me and when I do it I get a little strange. When I reenter civilization I have trouble engaging in conversations without beginning to daydream and it takes practice to get my mind to cooperate with the unspoken rules of society.

Cain offers her own advice for interacting with introverts but I’d like to chime in, too. I hope this helps in your understanding of yourself or your interactions with the introverts in your life.

When interacting with an introvert:

Choose one-on one over large groups. While I love speaking in front of thousands, mingling isn’t my thing. If I’m at a party, I’ll typically speak with one or two people for a longer period of time. If you’re interacting with an introvert, just know they don’t want to “work the room.”
Let them recharge. Introverts don’t want to do several social events in one day. They can survive, and even thrive, on just one or two per week. If you’re dealing with an introvert and you’re lining up meeting after meeting or coffee followed by lunch followed by a “get together” then happy hour and dinner and then drinks after with yet another group, it’s going to be torture. Introverts are like that cell phone you’ve got that needs to be recharged several times per day. In their minds, they’re running a lot of applications.
Go deep or go home. Mostly, introverts live in their minds and they think about why things happen or they daydream or whatever. Shallow conversations about the weather, at least for me, are painful. I just don’t want to have them. It’s not that I want to talk about politics or theology, I don’t, but I don’t want to have conversations that aren’t going somewhere. I want to talk about your passions, your fears, your musings about why you think life is the way it is. The cool thing is, once I know we can go there, I can talk to that person about anything shallow, including the weather. I just have to know we can go to the deep end when we feel like it.
Give them some space. My old roommate, Mike, once said to me, “Don, you know I’ve figured you out a little bit. You need about ten minutes of space when you come home before you engage in a conversation.” His observation was profound. I hadn’t realized it myself, but he was dead on. Introverts don’t want to be mobbed when they get to their place of security, or for that matter, anywhere else. They want to transition and get comfortable and then engage. When an introvert comes home and is charged with some social responsibility immediately, it’s tough. Give him or her ten minutes to transition and it’ll pay you back a thousand fold.
Work with them to compromise. Forcing an introvert to go out all the time will backfire. They don’t want to be around people that much. But if you’re in a relationship with an introvert, you obviously can’t capitulate to every need. So strike some compromises. Usually, if you give an introvert some down time, they’re good for a few social events each week.

• • •

And of course there is much more. But I’m curious about you introverts out there.

What are tips extroverts can use to enjoy their relationships with you even more?

How to Get Along with an Introvert is a post from: Storyline Blog

“Sunday Morning Music – Bruce Springsteen” by Griffin House

It may be the most simple video of all time. A guy sitting in his kitchen with his guitar and singing the song. But it’s the song and the singing that count, to me.

I love how the whole video just starts way back and slowly zooms in closer and closer until the end of the song. It captures a side of Bruce other than the huge rockstar “Born in the USA” performer.

I saw him on the Grammy’s 6 or 7 years ago and everyone else had these big giant productions and he walked up and sang a song from his Devils and Dust album, just him and his guitar and harmonica. And I was more moved by that performance than anything the whole night.

He can hit you right in the heart, with just the bare bones, no production necessary (but he can do that too).

It’s a reminder to me that sometimes the quietest most humble person in the room is the most powerful.

“Sunday Morning Music – Bruce Springsteen” by Griffin House is a post from: Storyline Blog

Saturday Morning Cereal: The Best Viral Videos We Found This Week

Last week, the string duo playing “Let it Be” took the majority vote.

Which of these is your favorite this week? Leave your vote below in the comments.

Saturday Morning Cereal: The Best Viral Videos We Found This Week is a post from: Storyline Blog

Is Busy-ness a Drug?

Busy is both my drug and my defense. By that I mean that I use busy-ness to make me feel numb and safe, the way you use a drug, and I use busy-ness as a way of explaining all the things I dropped, didn’t do well, couldn’t pull together, as a defense.

And I’m telling you this because I want to stop. I want to drop the drug and the defense, one from each hand, letting them fall with heavy thunks, and I want to live a new way.

I know it’s not all or nothing, or all at once. In the same way that most married couples have like the same three fights over and over throughout their life together, I think each person has two or three issues that rear their heads over and over, and that those issues spike especially when the stress level gets a little bit elevated for whatever reason.

Some people isolate and curl inward, some people dip back into an eating disorder that’s been held mostly at bay for a long time. Some people become angry, wielding rage as power against all the things that scare them.

This is what I do: I keep myself busy, for a whole constellation of reasons. I do it because I’m addicted to the feeling of being capable, because I hate to be bored, because I hate having to face the silence, because it might force me to feel things I don’t want to feel.

What if this book doesn’t connect with people at all? What if there are more bad reviews than good?

What if something happens to one of the kids?

What if I’ve made the wrong choices, and I’m missing something important, something I could have been or should have done?

*Photo by Flik, Creative Commons

If I stay busy I don’t have to feel those things, don’t have to worry about them, don’t have to let them blossom in to full-fledged questions. I don’t have to sit and think about that thing someone said about me recently when they didn’t know I was there, something I can’t get out of my mind. And so I run away from it, and from everything, faster, faster, faster.

And I use my busy-ness as an excuse for why I might not succeed, or accomplish the things I want to, or have the relationships I want to have.

I mean, I’m juggling a million things here, of course the book’s not perfect.

Seriously, where am I supposed to find time to work out and become some gorgeous supermodel, when I have like seven thousand things on my plate?

I probably didn’t get invited because they knew I’d be out of town anyway, right? Right? Right?

• • •

The busy-ness is a drug to keep me numb and a defense to keep me safe. And it works. But numb and safe aren’t key words for the life I want to live. I want so much more than numb and safe. And when I pursue numb and safe, what I get is busy, and after that what I get is exhausted, and after that, fragile and weepy and quick to snap and fearful. So much for numb and safe, which aren’t even something to aspire to anyway.

I think I might not be the only one who keeps herself safe by keeping herself busy. I might not be the only one who wears exhaustion as a badge of honor, a way of showing people how terribly fast I’ve been running. I posted this article earlier this week, Brene Brown’s fantastic words about exhaustion as a status symbol, and I know so many of you connected with those ideas, as I did.

This is right where I am these days, and maybe it’s right where you are, too.

Today, I’m dropping the drug and the defense, and I’ll do my best to do the same tomorrow.

Today, I’m shooting for higher than numb and safe and protected by excuses. I want to be present and whole and have nothing to hide, no excuses to be made, because I did my best, and because that’s enough.

Today, I want to communicate to my kids, through my words and my actions, that we don’t always have to be hustling, plates don’t always have to be spinning, balls don’t always have to be in the air.

What would it look like in your life to lay down busy, both the drug and the defense?

Is Busy-ness a Drug? is a post from: Storyline Blog

Why I Now Like George W. Bush

I’ve always had mixed feelings about George W. I voted for him once (his second term) and coming from Texas, had something of an emotional tie to the former President. Not only that, but I like him. I naively believe, of all the former Presidents, he and I would get along the best. I’d rather sit in a duck blind with a dog and George W. than with anybody else. I think we’d get along. If only he drank beer.

That said, I wonder at times if his Presidency didn’t get swayed too strongly by Dick Cheney and the whole Neo-Con control machine (without which he would not have gotten elected). It’s a shame, really. W. may have done more for the continent of Africa than any other President, at least from a foreign policy/financial perspective. Despite popular belief, he was a strong advocate for the poor and marginalized. And I like the fact he wanted to lower taxes, but I hate the fact he increased the national debt.

I protested the invasion of Iraq, and I’m fully aware of the atrocities that have taken place there. The Iraqis have lost more than 100k of their own, and too many voices now believe a true democracy is unlikely. And not only this, but recent statistic reveal that up to two-thirds of Christians have had to flee Iraq for fear of massacres. This of course begs questions about the wisdom of the invasion. We toppled an evil regime, but that toppling cost untold devastation. Would you stand up to a bully if you had to kill children to do so?

It’s been ten years since the invasion of Iraq and if we’ve learned one thing it’s that life is not a spaghetti western. It seems Americans forget that fact quickly.

That said, my mixed feelings gave way to some grace recently by of all things, a painting. And the painting was this one:

It’s not an especially great painting. It’s just the former President in the shower, looking at a mirror. What interested me about the painting, though, is that the former President painted it himself.

It reminds me, to a small degree, of Winston Churchill’s behavior after he was first ousted from Parliament. Did you know, after Churchill was voted out he went to his house by the sea and learned to paint? It’s true. And when Hitler came on the scene, they brought Churchill back because they needed a man of war. (They quickly voted him out again after he won the war. They didn’t need a hammer after that, another fact Americans forget in their romantic notions of simple heroic characters.)

What is interesting to me about the fact the President is painting now is that it means he’s exploring, creating, feeling something, being vulnerable, if you will. You have to be vulnerable to create art. Art is difficult if you’re defensive.

There is no question this man has spent hours wondering about his decisions, and there’s no question he’s wept over the lives lost.

Dick Cheney seems like a man who justifies his decisions no matter what evidence you stack against him. George W. Bush doesn’t. I think the man is honestly objective.

And here’s the reality, and perhaps the point of this post: We tend to demonize people, don’t we? We tend to think other people are either angels or demons. But they aren’t. There is a messiah and a devil and then the human race caught in-between.

Why is it so hard for us to embrace this reality? Do we not want to give each other the effort of nuanced thought? Must our conclusions be the same as the talk show hosts, who only make money in the polar charges of good and evil? (and lately, a few shock-jock preachers who have hijacked the gospel for their own attention and glory.)

• • •

I’m no die-hard Republican and I think “picking a political team and letting that team define your identity” is evidence of sloppy thinking and a disregard for truth.

There is a temptation to paint a man evil for the ramifications of his decisions. And I think while his motives were not pure (self-deluded at best), I don’t believe they were evil. I think he made dramatic miscalculations.

That said, I’d still duck hunt with G.W. I wonder what we’d talk about. I’d probably start by asking how he did that self portrait in the shower without getting the painting wet. I’d not talk about the war. I’d ask him about his father. I might ask about baseball.

I don’t think the man is a monster. I think he’s a man.

Can I ask you, do you believe half the people in the world are demons and the other half are angels?

Why I Now Like George W. Bush is a post from: Storyline Blog

Talking It All Out – How to Get Past Hurt Feelings

One afternoon I got a notice from the post office that I had three parcels waiting for me. I had been expecting a script, but not a parcel. I drove to the post office to pick them up. They were boxes from my sister. I recognized them: It was my mother’s crystal.

When my mother had a stroke and developed dementia, she moved in with my sister. My sister got the dining room set, my mother’s Desert Rose china, and a chunk of money to pay for my mother’s everyday care. Mom said I could have her crystal.

The previous Thanksgiving my husband and I drove out to visit them in Colorado. My sister wanted me to take the crystal back with us, but there wasn’t enough room in the car. We’d brought the dogs with us. I told her I’d get it the next time we drove out.

Well, there were the crystal boxes at the post office: covered in Priority Mail stickers, and “Fragile” written on the sides. As I picked up one of the boxes, I heard the distinct sound of broken glass. I picked up the other boxes to put in my trunk. There was that same ugly gut-wrenching shatter sound in all of them.

I got the boxes home and opened them. One by one I pulled out the glasses. Some were wrapped in paper, some in bubble wrap. Almost all of them were broken. Some had the stems snapped from the bowls, but most were shattered beyond recognition. Gone.

How had my sister even packed these? Why did she mail them without telling me? Did she just want them out of her hair? This was my inheritance. She had most all of Mom’s priceless stuff, and here she had sent off these boxes so carelessly. They don’t make this crystal anymore. There was no way to get it back.

I called my sister. Grief and anger gushed out of my mouth. I felt like my share of the inheritance had been carelessly thrown away. My sister forgot that she had packed it for a car, not for the postal service. She felt sickened at her error. She reassured me I could have anything else belonging to Mom. But wanted the crystal. I wanted what Mom had given me. Besides, it wasn’t really about the objects. It was about the loss.

We stayed on the phone with each other and shared what we had remembered about the crystal: Sunday dinners, cousins coming to visit. In high school my friend Julia and I learned how to make crepes. We served them with Martinelli’s, poured into those crystal goblets. The more we talked, the more we realized the crystal represented Mom: how hard she tried to bring some semblance of beauty and structure to our chaotic family. All those Christmas dinners she slaved over, served on that china and crystal; each year the family drifting further and further away, the china and crystal remaining on an ever-shrinking table. My mother is now in the last stages of dementia and lives in a convalescent home. She’s like a child. It’s almost impossible to remember her a vibrant, active woman or a competent chef. And it’s almost impossible to remember our family together, intact. But I look at that crystal and then I remember.

It was a difficult conversation between my sister and me. It was probably harder for her, because she had caused it. Fortunately I was able to find the pattern on ebay and replace over half of it. I called her a week later to tell her I’d found replacements. I asked her if I’d said anything to hurt her feelings. She said no. In fact, we both felt closer by having walked through it and came out the other side.

That afternoon I listened to a song by Sara Groves, “When it was over.”

When it was over and they could talk about it

They were sitting on the couch

She said, “What on earth made you stay here

When you finally figured out what I was all about?”

He said, “I always knew you’d do the right thing

Even though it might take some time.”

She said, “Yeah, I felt that and that’s probably what saved my life.”

Oh love wash over a multitude of things

Make us whole

There is a love that never fails

There is a healing that always prevails

There is a hope that whispers a vow

A promise to stay while we’re working it out

So come with your love and wash over us.

A year later my memoir came out. My sister was shattered by some things I’d written about her in the book. Mostly it was oversight: I was on such a tight schedule that I hadn’t had time to review what I’d written about her or how it came across. When she pointed out the very last line I’d written about her, I was horrified. It wasn’t at all how I wanted her to be portrayed. This was far worse than losing a few crystal glasses. Now it was my turn to feel horrified. It took a long time, but we got through it. We got through it by being angry, hurt, and finally sitting across from each other and talking it all out.

We are closer and more mature than we were before it happened. I’m glad we walked through it. I can almost say I’m glad it happened. Well, I’d prefer it if I were the one who had been hurt; not her.

If there is one thing I have learned, it’s that pain and conflict are part of my journey. Crystal glasses and feelings will be shattered. You have to keep loving those who hurt you. Love washes over a multitude of things. So come with Your love and wash over us.

Talking It All Out – How to Get Past Hurt Feelings is a post from: Storyline Blog

Thoughts on the Unfollow Generation

A few little buttons on the internet have created an entire new way of seeing the world. And the next generation, a generation who is growing up holding an iPad or iPhone will be dramatically affected.

These days, you can opt in or opt out, agree or disagree, be a follower or an unfollower, a friend or foe.

But what gets lost is something dramatic:

Nuanced thought. We are no longer able to separate the baby from the bathwater. If I write a blog that has one point people disagree with, they unfollow, they are against. It seems in our rush to create tribes, we’ve created exactly that, tribes. But sadly, we’ve created tribes at war with each other.

Who would have thought tribes would have gone to war with each other? How little have we learned from history?

The internet is an island and fiction has become fact: Lord of the Flies is now a reality.

But it’s not all bad news.

• • •

Here are the pros and cons of the Unfollow Generation:

THE PROS

This is a generation very aware of boundaries. While they are the most “following” generation in history, meaning they are nearly incapable of original thought, but follow anybody with a quick wit and meaningless tweet, they are also extremely aware of their own desires, wants, passions and so forth. If they don’t like you, they unfollow. And that’s beautiful. They feel no responsibility to go along with thoughts they don’t agree with. It’s not that they know who they are, because they don’t. It’s that they know who they want to identify with. They aren’t leaders, they are followers, and they define their identity quickly and decisively by who they identify with. I see this as an overall positive. Boundaries are incredibly important for overall mental health. Love it.

THE CONS

They are often incapable of nuanced thought. They see the world in black and white, and the world isn’t in black and white. They are desperate to find their tribe and extremely insecure about standing alone. They get their security from a small mass who sees the world the way they see the world without realizing the world is even more complex than the way any small tribe sees the world. They look for personalities over truth, shocking statements over nuanced thought, fashion over reality.

• • •

Notes on this blog: I wrote this blog one afternoon, just firing off thoughts and turning them in. Then I read it again this morning on my walk. I don’t love the tone of it, though I think the conversation is important. It seems judgmental, in hindsight. I struggled with whether to rewrite it or just add a note and decided to add a note and let the embarrassing part of the post stand. What strikes me most is this really isn’t a post about a generation, it’s about a cultural shift. We are all beginning to feel the positive and negative characteristics of an unfollow culture. This part seems to me the most cold and untrue: “they are nearly incapable of original thought, but follow anybody with a quick wit and meaningless tweet…” Do accept my apologies. I think that about some people, but certainly not an entire generation. Moving on…

Thoughts on the Unfollow Generation is a post from: Storyline Blog

Why Most Twenty Somethings are Delusional

Oh, I know, I’m an ageist. But I don’t mean it that way. In fact, I firmly believe people in their twenties, officially one generation behind me, are better than my generation. What I mean by this is they are more altruistic, more international, more objective and less fearful than any generation in recent history.

And yet, they are also delusional. And here’s why:

1. They believe they are special.

2. They believe the work their parents did is the work they did.

3. They believe passion displaces work.

• • •

I’ll break it down:

1. You are not more entitled than any generation before you. Even if your parents paid for your education, and you have an iPhone (that your parent’s generation created) and can tell one-thousand people what you ate for lunch, you are not special. You are one in several billion people who God made, and you are equal to each of them, no matter how wealthy they were or how poor they were. In fact, with the tools you have been given, much more is expected of you than of any previous generation, and much more will be expected of your children (you will soon see them as spoiled brats, don’t worry.)

2. You did not make the iPhone. When the iPhone was being dreamed up, you were in kindergarten. You use the iPhone. And when you post a picture of your vacation, it doesn’t make you a genius, it makes Steve Jobs a genius. Steve Jobs is dead. And he died when he was your parent’s age. You’re alive. He can’t create something new, but you can. The ball is in your court.

3. I know you read a Seth Godin book convincing you you could be a billionaire by creating a tribe. And you read a Timothy Ferris book convincing you you could work four hours a week and be rich. Guess what? Both of those guys work as tirelessly as depression-era farmers. They do this because the laws of the universe haven’t changed. You have to work to eat. And you have to work hard.

And let me add this. Sell out. Scrub a toilet. Nothing is beneath you.

I’ve watched scores of twenty-somethings quit their jobs and start businesses based on books written by people who sell fantasies. These writers tell one story about a guy who bought an island because he created some online business and convinced people they could do it too.

Don’t be fooled. The chances of that happening to you are about the same as winning the lottery. Writers are making millions by convincing people they can win the lottery too.

• • •

But the rules of free commerce have not changed:

1. Identify something people need or want.

2. Create that thing and create it well.

3. Sell that thing at a competitive price.

4. Clearly communicate what that thing is.

5. Give half the money you make to the government.

6. Give a percentage of your money to causes that need your money.

7. Love your spouse and your children, because in the end little else will matter. They don’t care about your money.

• • •

Remember, you are of the most altruistic and kind generations in history. But the rules haven’t changed. You can do this. We love you and believe in you. You are better than we were. But not that much better.

Why Most Twenty Somethings are Delusional is a post from: Storyline Blog