Prozac and Toast

I cried because I had no shoes until I saw a man who had no feet. There is a story in there that isn’t told. A truth that is missed. In one phrase; where some hear hope, I hear tragedy. Who are you in this story? Imagine the story from the perspective of the man with no feet, what would he say. For me it might go something like this: I met a man with no shoes and realized I have no feet. I hate the man with no shoes. He looks at me with pity. He is happy with his life knowing that things could be worse, he could be me. I hate the man with no shoes. My misery is his happiness. Is that how happiness works? Is that how we become content with our lives? Are my needs conditional based on the statutes of my traveler in life? Do I have to have it worse for things to get better? If we base the human condition on a grade scale of worth and suffering, don’t we just all wind up with no feet? I hate the man with no shoes. I hate the idea that things could always be worse. That we ...