One thing I know about happiness is that it comes from the narrative of our life. The story we tell ourselves. But too often, we let others write that story for us. Unhappiness and discontent inevitably follow. The only person who can write the story of your life properly is you. In order to change our narrative to an authentic one, one we write ourselves, we must change our perspective, and thus our perceptions of our world. This is not a new idea. Plato explained it in “Allegory of the Cave” over 2,300 years ago. A small change in perception can mean a huge change in what we see. And changing how we see lets us write a new narrative. The Dalai Lama also explores this idea of the relationship between perception and a good life in his book The Art of Happiness (99¢ in the remainder bin . . . maybe you can buy happiness after all!).
I Just Dropped In “Just the man I wanted to see,” Sgt. Keith said. “You and Tony have Donut Dollie duty.” “Jesus Christ, Sarge, I had it last time they were here,” I said, in the hope that he would take pity on me. “Bullshit. Last time they were here, only two newbies showed up. […]
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Stuck in the Middle The Inspector General was coming and we had a stockpile of unauthorized equipment. The Colonel ordered us to get rid of it by any means necessary. Some of it was from the Korean war, some of it was Naval and Air Force equipment, and all of it was being chopped up,
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Smoke Gets in Your Eyes As we began our descent into Bien Hoa Air Base, darkness was settling over the Vietnamese countryside. We came in fast and high to discourage anti-aircraft fire. There was black smoke rising from dozens of fires as I looked out of the window. Each air-pocket bump and plume of smoke
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They’re Coming to Take Me Away Where does one start in trying to explain the definitive event of one’s life, as well as that of a nation and several generations? People, especially young people, don’t understand. They were raised on Black Hawk Down, Iraq, and Afghanistan. Not that I blame them. By all rights, Vietnam
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Introduction Vietnam. To many Americans it is a tag on an article of clothing. But to anyone who was sixteen or older in the Sixties, it is a name seared into their psyche. For ten years, the top story on the news almost every night was Vietnam. It dominated our politics and our culture. It
I was raised in a cult. . . the Catholic Church. Okay, so technically it’s not considered a cult. At least not today. But, back in Roman times, it was. And it certainly acts like a cult. Once a year they make you put a carbon cross on your forehead so you look like a
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