I was born a romantic. I blame a wandering childhood and too many Disney movies. But life has its way of polishing off the soft edges and I am a lot more sceptical about such things than I used to be. It’s a confusing thing to be raised on fairytales and romantic comedies where the hero rides in on a stallion and saves the (apparently defenseless) girl from the tower, to then grow up and realize that you are more than capable, and indeed should, save yourself or (even better
Happiness: it’s such a subjective and intangible goal, and yet one we pursue as a society almost relentlessly. A quick search on Amazons self-help book section comes up with thousands of titles on the subject, each promising the answers in an easy 300 pages. We like quick fixes these days, though don’t we? We want someone to tell us the answers, rather than doing the work to find them out for ourselves. Even having to read a whole book for enlightenment seems kind of a drag.