Or: On a lifelong dichotomy discovered via Fitter Happier.
Or: Happy 29th birthday to me!
I’ve learned that, while neither pragmatists nor idealists tend to be more or less happier than the other, idealists are invariably more empathetic. When an idealist is happy, they are utterly blissful, and when an idealist is sad, they are abysmally depressed. The pragmatist is perpetually cynical, while the idealist is perpetually disappointed. The idealist’s horizons are broad and distant, as in a dream, while the pragmatist’s roots dig deeply into the fertile soil of tradition. So, you who are now approaching 30 and the end of our generation’s new decade dedicated to finding one’s place in the world: Choose, and don’t look back.
Blessed are those who expect nothing, for they are never disappointed. Blessed are those who lust for quality, not quantity. Blessed are the pragmatically idealistic, and for Pete’s sake someone give them a pillow or something because that shit sounds exhausting.
Finally, blessed are those who remain true to themselves, who learn from and don’t deign to cover up their mistakes, and who raise their children out of love rather than dashed hopes and dreams. It may be a sallow credence, but it’s all we’ve got. Peace.