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Posts Tagged ‘story’

Why Not To Be Racist

Black Sheep

Do I think race exists?

Yes.

Does being a member of a particular group tend to confer certain advantages and disadvantages?

Yeah, I think so.

Do East Africans really make the best runners and Vietnamese the best poker players?

Probably.

Just google it. It’s unnervingly hard to attribute their success to vague reasons like “peer approval” or “cultural legacy.”

But I’ve also met Ethiopians that couldn’t run to save their lives and Vietnamese who have lost their livelihoods in a run at the tables. See, even if there truly are genetic, physiological, and neurological disparities between groups, that doesn’t guarantee YOU anything. You are still an individual.

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Now, Not Later

Planet and Star Alignment

I meant to start my self-help blog earlier, but having been wounded by the double-edged sword of perfectionism, I put it off for over a year. I wanted to wait until my life was more “together.” Until I became rich enough to live in a castle overlooking the ocean. Until I could bench press a small sedan. Until I had convinced Katy Perry to marry me. Basically, I was waiting for my life to be so perfect that I became unassailable to criticism. Fortunately, I stopped waiting.

I love to write. The joy it brings me is hard to describe. It feels similar to seeing the woman you love smile at you, or standing on the rooftop of a tall building and gazing down at the pedestrians. It makes me feel full to the core. I’ll never forget the feeling I had after writing my first page. I sat back, marveled at its genius, and breathed a sigh of relief. When I re-read it the next day, I was in shock. My jaw didn’t drop, but it sure did droop. In fact, my entire face drooped so much it felt like I was wearing a leather baseball mitt for a face. I remember the sinking feeling in my chest and the swirling feeling in my head.

It sucked!

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A Sumo Wrestler

The man is trying to keep you down. He doesn’t want for you to have dreams. And nothing would make him happier than to see you in shackles and to be grateful for it.

The man has a name:

Ego

I once saw a television special about sumo wrestlers. The show revealed that essentially there were two classes of sumo: the junior wrestlers and the senior wrestlers. Junior wrestlers are forced to wear poor quality clothes and wooden sandals that make an annoying clip-clop sound while walking. They must wake up earlier, wait their turn to take a bath after training, and spend their days doing chores and serving their seniors.

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