Small lifetime annoyances and silly arguments.



“Lifetime” sounds massive, like something permanent, carved in stone, stretched across decades. But most of what fills a lifetime? It’s small, repetitive and emotional. And, if we’re being honest, often ridiculous. A lifetime isn’t made of the big moments we think define us. It’s built from the things we choose to hold onto and the things we should have let go of five minutes ago. As humans, we remain mostly undefeated at turning minor annoyances into full theatrical productions.

The argument you had? The one that replays again and again in your mind, the one that, at that time, felt urgent, so important and worh raising your voice over? In the scale of a lifetime, it barely matters. It’s an asinine blip, a flicker of almost momentary insanity where emotion convinced you it was larger than it actually was.

And that’s the real problem. We don’t ruin parts of our lives with massive decisionsWe chip away at them with small, unnecessary battles. There is often an undercurrent in our lives which tends to fuel our response to certain situations. At times, we find ourselves sick of various things, like being misunderstood, having to repeat ourselves, dealing with people who argue only to win, over-explaining the damndest simple, almost trivial, thing where the topic at hand almost requires a thesis. I know, I know, not everyone is going to get you, there’s a shocker, but it’s still not worth turning a situation into a courtroom drama. Then, there are those tiny inconveniences that come across like major crises like typos, emotional overreactions, holding onto being irritated much longer that you should and turning a 30-second moment into a 3-hour pissy mood. Of course, we have a tendency to expect people to think like we do which is a valiant strategy but rarely successful. Then, we allow our pride to keep an argument alive which is the least useful hill to die on. We often forget what actually matters and we need to think about those we care about, not whatever nonsense sparked that damn argument.

We need to remember that a lifetime isn’t just how long we will live. It’s how we spend our emotional energy while here. Each time we escalate something small, we’re spending a piece of that lifetime; every time we allow something to go, we’re protecting it. The worst part? Most of what we fight about isn’t worth the cost, regardless of how passionate we are about proving some point.

We don’t need to win every argument or correct every misunderstanding. Reacting badly to everything that irritates us is consuming. The most powerful thing we can do is to pause and think “Will this matter in a year?” If the answer is no, it likely doesn’t deserve another five minutes of your lifetime; nothing was lost by stepping back from that argument. If anything, a piece of your life was reclaimed from something that was never worth of it in the first place and ends up being a silly waste of time.

You never know that, if life lessons are extracted from your personal arguments, you might become emotionally evolved and that can be a dangerous path. Hell, people might start enjoying being around you! That moment you had where you stepped back and thought “What was that all even about?”, well that’s the good stuff and most people never get there. They just keep recycling the same arguments like it’s a hobby. Stopping to catch yourself and see things for what they are is how you quietly improve your life without announcing it to the world like a motivational poster. Just don’t expect it to be permanent because you absolutely will get annoyed again, feel right again, and definitely want to argue again. The difference will be that small voice in your head that goes, “Really? This again?”

And that voice is just the beginning.

From the Writer’s Workshop: Write a post inspired by the word lifetime. List ten things you are currently sick of. Write about a fight you got into that you were passionate about then, but that seems silly now.

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Holy Data…



Those who visit my website know that I frequently respond to writing prompts from a terrific group I belong to called the Writer’s Workshop. Now and then, some prompts just strike a chord and are a great incentive to share my thoughts, feelings, and ravings.  This is one of those times.

The prompt I’m responding to focuses on the late Scott Adams, an American cartoonist, author and conservative commentator, best known for the Dilbert comic strip along with nonfiction works of business, self-improvement, commentary and satire.  Back in 1995, Scott Adams observed that “We live in a world where all data is wrong” and, for some odd reason, this started me thinking back to my parochial school education.

Stay with me here as I build a fairly long-winded response. 

For those who attended Catholic school years and years ago, there was nothing like early exposure to weaponized stationery to sharpen our attention spans.  Hey, all the public-school kids got gold stars while many of us in our rigid school uniforms received behavioral calibration via hardwood, courtesy of the nunnery in place. When your formative years involve someone in sensible black shoes enforcing reality with a heavy ruler, you come to learn quickly that drifting off into comforting illusions has consequences.  Painful, very specific, consequences.

Herein lies my strange throughline between all of the above and what Scott Adams shared about data. As parochial school students, we were trained, in a very analog and mildly terrifying way, to distrust the easy answer. We double-checked and remained present. In the meantime, the rest of the world grew up getting gently reassured that their guesses were “close enough” and in current times, they treat half-baked data like gospel because it comes with a chart and a pastel color scheme.

Are you with me so far? I mean, am I making sense?

What I personally received was the human version of error correction, far from subtle, not gentle, but effective. Most people got vibes.  So, in short, when someone ways, “the data proves it,” my particular brain doesn’t relax. It kind of leans in a little, like it’s waiting for that damn ruler to come crashing down on my head.  Where’s the flow, what’s missing, what’s being smoothed over to make the situation at hand look cleaner than it actually is?

Yes, this is an annoyingly useful instinct as it keeps me from being easily convinced, but it also means that I don’t get to enjoy the comforting fiction that everything is neatly measurable and under control.  I know that’s bullcrap and full of cracks; I notice the gaps and recognize when the numbers are doing a little too much storytelling. 

In the end, the downside is obvious. For the most part, I am one hell of a lot harder to fool, and I paid for this skill with significant ruler trauma. Now, I get to spend the balance of my life side-eyeing dashboards like they owe me an explanation. The views of Scott Adams definitely made a point as they focused on the idea that objective reality is harder to determine than most people assume. And, we all too well know that perceived facts are often distorted by media narratives.

Adams argued that people rarely see reality as it actually is, but rather through a filtered, subjective lens. Some, like myself, long ago met reality, head-on, as holy data made its point with a ruler.

From the Writer’s Workshop: Scott Adams observed “We live in a world where all data is wrong.” Discuss

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A roadmap to me…

March 31, 1976

Dear 80-Year-Old Me, here in 2026,

I’m writing this to you from 50 years in the past, a time when I was young, fairly vibrant and, frankly, damn terrified of how quickly time already seemed to be passing. 2026? Holy shit, it feels like I’m writing about science fiction and 80 years old? This seems like an impossible, far-away land.

In my mind, I can visualize you sitting in a comfortable chair, hopefully looking back on a life that feels full and well-lived. But, knowing you as I do, I think you question so much that you could have done better and grieve over what you haven’t accomplished. At some point, I hope you can say “What a ride it’s been”, but, I have a few questions, even requests for you:

1.Did you take enough risks? Be honest. I hope you didn’t spend these 50 years staying comfortable and did not wait to travel, to love, or to start that project you always talked about. If not, don’t wait! The “somedays” are growing shorter, go and do it now!.

2. Are you still moving, doing more than your best to stay one step ahead of everything? I hope you’re still walking, playing and staying active to keep your body going strong. Sometimes, you burn the proverbial candle at both ends, not always a positive, and you need to slow down and not allow others to take advantage of you.

3.Have you kept those you love close in your life? All the time working and being involved in other situations stops us from spending quality time with family and friends. The hearts and minds of the people who love us are everything. Don’t allow them to drift away.

4.Are you still curious and anxious to have new experiences? I hope your mind is sharp and you never stopped learning. Never stop being interested in the world, no matter how much it has changed. Never hesitate from sharing your wisdom with others who still have so much left to learn, regardless if they already think they know everything.

I know the future brought hardships and that you handled them when you could, with grace. But not always. I hope that you’ve learned to be more compassionate, less judgmental, and that you forgive me for the mistakes I am still making at this very moment. Aside from it all, I am trying my best to make you proud and it’s important that you aren’t too hard on yourself. If you are still laughing and finding joy in the smallest things like a good cup of coffee, a sunny morning and a kind word, then I know I’ve done my job correctly over these last 50 years.

Enjoy the ride that’s left along with a few more inevitable bumps along the roadmap ahead. For now, you made it.

With love and curiosity,

Your 30-year-old self (1976)

From the Writer’s Workshop: Write a letter to yourself, fifty years ago.

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