Lesson Learned

It seems like whenever I'm feeling sorry for myself, something pops into my life to show me how lucky I am, and that I should just stop whining already.

25 coal miners dead in West Virginia was the first thing I saw this morning. Then I opened up my book to read for class today, and it's about a preacher who moved from England to South Carolina to make a home for his family and find a place for his son before they came over. But instead, his wife decided to stay in England for good, and keep the son, leaving him alone in a new country with the obvious conclusion that his family didn't really care about him.

I didn't feel so bad for myself after reading that. The world is full of pain. Humans are built for it. We dwell on our personal agonies as if no one else has ever felt that pain. Yet some of us are extremely fortunate to be surrounded by friends and family that will do anything to protect you, no matter what happens. When I feel like this, it helps to remember how much worse I have felt before. How devastated my life has seemed, by things that not seem trivial and meaningless. I think we mourn for our memories, not our true history.