We all know that money can't buy happiness … but many times we act as if we'd be happier with a bit more money. We are conditioned to want to be rich (when we know the rich aren't happy either); we are trained to want the latest gadget or style that television tells us to want; we want to earn more money because then we'll have the good life.
But none of that will bring us happiness. No matter how much we earn, no matter how much we have in the bank, no matter how nice our clothing or cars or toys, none of it will make us happier. And the sad thing is that it could take us decades of pursuing wealth and luxury items before we realize this.
So what will bring us happiness? Luckily, it's three things that don't cost a thing. These three things have been proven by research ― surveys of hundreds of thousands of people about what they have, what their lives are like, and how happy they are.
Here they are, the Three Secrets to Happiness:
1. Good relationships. We have a human need to be close, to be intimate, with other human beings. Having good, supportive friendships, a strong marriage or close and loving relationships with our family members will make us much more likely to be happy. Action steps: Take time, today, to spend time with your loved ones, to tell them what they mean to you, to listen to them, and develop your relationship with them.
2. Positive thinking. I'm obviously a big proponent of positive thinking as the best way to achieve your goals, but it turns out that it can lead to happiness too. Optimism and self-esteem are some of the best indicators of people who lead happy lives. Happy people feel empowered, in control of their lives, and have a positive outlook on life. Action steps: Make positive thinking a habit. In fact, this should be one of the first habits you develop. Get into the habit of squashing all negative thoughts and replacing them with positive ones. Instead of "I can't" think "I can". It may sound corny, but it has worked for me, every time.
3. Flow. This is a popular concept on the Internet these days ― the state we enter when we are completely focused on the work or task before us. We are so immersed in our task that we lose track of time. Having work and leisure that gets you in this state of flow will almost undoubtedly lead to happiness. People find greatest enjoyment not when they're passively mindless, but when they're absorbed in a mindful challenge. Action steps: Find work that you're passionate about. Seriously ― this is an extremely important step. Find hobbies that you're passionate about. Turn off the TV ― this is the opposite of flow ― and get outside and do something that truly engages you.
You've been given the Three Secrets to Happiness. Don't waste them!
Happiness
walked past the 100% perfect girl
Tell you the truth, she's not that good-looking. She doesn't stand out in any way. Her clothes are nothing special. The back of her hair is still bent out of shape from sleep. She isn't young, either - must be near thirty, not even close to a "girl," properly speaking. But still, I know from fifty yards away: She's the 100% perfect girl for me. The moment I see her, there's a rumbling in my chest, and my mouth is as dry as a desert.
Maybe you have your own particular favorite type of girl - one with slim ankles, say, or big eyes, or graceful fingers, or you're drawn for no good reason to girls who take their time with every meal. I have my own preferences, of course. Sometimes in a restaurant I'll catch myself staring at the girl at the next table to mine because I like the shape of her nose.
But no one can insist that his 100% perfect girl correspond to some preconceived type. Much as I like noses, I can't recall the shape of hers - or even if she had one. All I can remember for sure is that she was no great beauty. It's weird.
"Yesterday on the street I passed the 100% girl," I tell someone.
"Yeah?" he says. "Good-looking?"
"Not really."
"Your favorite type, then?"
"I don't know. I can't seem to remember anything about her - the shape of her eyes or the size of her breasts."
"Strange."
"Yeah. Strange."
"So anyhow," he says, already bored, "what did you do? Talk to her? Follow her?"
"Nah. Just passed her on the street."
She's walking east to west, and I west to east. It's a really nice April morning.
Wish I could talk to her. Half an hour would be plenty: just ask her about herself, tell her about myself, and - what I'd really like to do - explain to her the complexities of fate that have led to our passing each other on a side street in Harajuku on a beautiful April morning in 1981. This was something sure to be crammed full of warm secrets, like an antique clock build when peace filled the world.
After talking, we'd have lunch somewhere, maybe see a Woody Allen movie, stop by a hotel bar for cocktails. With any kind of luck, we might end up in bed.
Potentiality knocks on the door of my heart.
Now the distance between us has narrowed to fifteen yards.
How can I approach her? What should I say?
"Good morning, miss. Do you think you could spare half an hour for a little conversation?"
Ridiculous. I'd sound like an insurance salesman.
"Pardon me, but would you happen to know if there is an all-night cleaners in the neighborhood?"
No, this is just as ridiculous. I'm not carrying any laundry, for one thing. Who's going to buy a line like that?
Maybe the simple truth would do. "Good morning. You are the 100% perfect girl for me."
No, she wouldn't believe it. Or even if she did, she might not want to talk to me. Sorry, she could say, I might be the 100% perfect girl for you, but you're not the 100% boy for me. It could happen. And if I found myself in that situation, I'd probably go to pieces. I'd never recover from the shock. I'm thirty-two, and that's what growing older is all about.
We pass in front of a flower shop. A small, warm air mass touches my skin. The asphalt is damp, and I catch the scent of roses. I can't bring myself to speak to her. She wears a white sweater, and in her right hand she holds a crisp white envelope lacking only a stamp. So: She's written somebody a letter, maybe spent the whole night writing, to judge from the sleepy look in her eyes. The envelope could contain every secret she's ever had.
I take a few more strides and turn: She's lost in the crowd.
Now, of course, I know exactly what I should have said to her. It would have been a long speech, though, far too long for me to have delivered it properly. The ideas I come up with are never very practical.
Oh, well. It would have started "Once upon a time" and ended "A sad story, don't you think?"
Once upon a time, there lived a boy and a girl. The boy was eighteen and the girl sixteen. He was not unusually handsome, and she was not especially beautiful. They were just an ordinary lonely boy and an ordinary lonely girl, like all the others. But they believed with their whole hearts that somewhere in the world there lived the 100% perfect boy and the 100% perfect girl for them. Yes, they believed in a miracle. And that miracle actually happened.
One day the two came upon each other on the corner of a street.
"This is amazing," he said. "I've been looking for you all my life. You may not believe this, but you're the 100% perfect girl for me."
"And you," she said to him, "are the 100% perfect boy for me, exactly as I'd pictured you in every detail. It's like a dream."
They sat on a park bench, held hands, and told each other their stories hour after hour. They were not lonely anymore. They had found and been found by their 100% perfect other. What a wonderful thing it is to find and be found by your 100% perfect other. It's a miracle, a cosmic miracle.
As they sat and talked, however, a tiny, tiny sliver of doubt took root in their hearts: Was it really all right for one's dreams to come true so easily?
And so, when there came a momentary lull in their conversation, the boy said to the girl, "Let's test ourselves - just once. If we really are each other's 100% perfect lovers, then sometime, somewhere, we will meet again without fail. And when that happens, and we know that we are the 100% perfect ones, we'll marry then and there. What do you think?"
"Yes," she said, "that is exactly what we should do."
And so they parted, she to the east, and he to the west.
The test they had agreed upon, however, was utterly unnecessary. They should never have undertaken it, because they really and truly were each other's 100% perfect lovers, and it was a miracle that they had ever met. But it was impossible for them to know this, young as they were. The cold, indifferent waves of fate proceeded to toss them unmercifully.
One winter, both the boy and the girl came down with the season's terrible inluenza, and after drifting for weeks between life and death they lost all memory of their earlier years. When they awoke, their heads were as empty as the young D. H. Lawrence's piggy bank.
They were two bright, determined young people, however, and through their unremitting efforts they were able to acquire once again the knowledge and feeling that qualified them to return as full-fledged members of society. Heaven be praised, they became truly upstanding citizens who knew how to transfer from one subway line to another, who were fully capable of sending a special-delivery letter at the post office. Indeed, they even experienced love again, sometimes as much as 75% or even 85% love.
Time passed with shocking swiftness, and soon the boy was thirty-two, the girl thirty.
One beautiful April morning, in search of a cup of coffee to start the day, the boy was walking from west to east, while the girl, intending to send a special-delivery letter, was walking from east to west, but along the same narrow street in the Harajuku neighborhood of Tokyo. They passed each other in the very center of the street. The faintest gleam of their lost memories glimmered for the briefest moment in their hearts. Each felt a rumbling in their chest. And they knew:
She is the 100% perfect girl for me.
He is the 100% perfect boy for me.
But the glow of their memories was far too weak, and their thoughts no longer had the clarity of fouteen years earlier. Without a word, they passed each other, disappearing into the crowd. Forever.
A sad story, don't you think?
Yes, that's it, that is what I should have said to her.
If the dream is big enough, the facts don't count
她很伤心，从臂弯里抬起头，告诉我，她父亲说那些教练讲得不对。他们根本不懂得梦想的力量。她父亲说，如果她真地有心去代表一个好的大学打篮球，如果她真的想获得奖学金，任何东西也不能阻止她，除非她自己没有这个心。
第二年，当她和她的球队去参加北加利福尼亚州冠军赛时，她被一位大学的招生人员看中了。那所大学真地为她提供了一份全额资助的奖学金。父亲又一次跟她说："如果梦想远大，就一定可以克服艰难险阻。"
I used to watch her from my kitchen window, she seemed so small as she muscled her way through the crowd of boys on the playground. The school was across the street from our home and I would often watch the kids as they played during recess. A sea of children, and yet to me, she stood out from them all.
I remember the first day I saw her playing basketball. I watched in wonder as she ran circles around the other kids. She managed to shoot jump shots just over their heads and into the net. The boys always tried to stop her but no one could.
I began to notice her at other times, basketball in hand, playing alone. She would practice dribbling and shooting over and over again, sometimes until dark. One day I asked her why she practiced so much. She looked directly in my eyes and without a moment of hesitation she said,"I want to go to college. The only way I can go is if I get a scholarship. I like basketball. I decided that if I were good enough, I would get a scholarship. I am going to play college basketball. I want to be the best. My Daddy told me if the dream is big enough, the facts don't count." Then she smiled and ran towards the court to recap the routine I had seen over and over again.
Well, I had to give it to her--- she was determined. I watched her through those junior high years and into high school. Every week, she led her varsity team to victory.
One day in her senior year, I saw her sitting in the grass, head cradled in her arms. I walked across the street and sat down in the cool grass beside her. Quietly I asked what was wrong. "Oh, nothing," came to a soft reply. "I'm just too short." The coach told her that at"5'5" she would probably never get to play for a top ranked team-- much less offered a scholarship-- so she should stop dreaming about college.
She was heartbroken and I felt my own throat tighten as I sensed her disappointment. I asked her if she had talked to her dad about it yet.She lifted her head from her hands and told me that her father said those coaches were wrong. They just didn't understand the power of a dream. He told her that if she really wanted to play for a good college, if she truly wanted a scholarship, that nothing could stop her except one thing-- her own attitude. He told her again," if the dream is big enough, the facts don't count."
The next year, as she and her team went to the Northern California Championship game, she was seen by a college recruiter. She was indeed offered a scholarship, a full ride, to a Division I, NCAA women's basketball team. She was going to get the college education that she had dreamed of and worked toward for all those years.
It's true: If the dream is big enough, the facts don't count.
The greatest of these
"昨天，这个女孩已是歇斯底里。她的父母正在打离婚战。她对我说她不想活了，然后双手紧捂着脸大声地喊'没有人是爱我的。"
"我还以为你是想跟我谈乔纳森的事呢，"我说道。
"是啊，请听下去。"她拂了下我的袖子接着说，"今天乔纳森径直走向了那女孩儿，递给了她一束粉嫩可爱的花并轻声耳语道'我爱你'。"
My day began on a decidedly sour note when I saw my six-year-old wrestling with a limb of my azalea bush. By the time I got outside, he'd broken it. "Can I take this to school today?" he asked. With a wave of my hand, I sent him off. I turned my back so he wouldn't see the tears gathering in my eyes. I loved that azalea bush. I touched the broken limb as if to say silently, "I'm sorry."
I wished I could have said that to my husband earlier, but I'd been angry. The washing machine had leaked on my brand-new linoleum. If he'd just taken the time to fix it the night before when I asked him instead of playing checkers with Jonathan. What are his priorities anyway? I wondered. I was still mopping up the mess when Jonathan walked into the kitchen. "What's for breakfast, Mom?" I opened the empty refrigerator. "Not cereal," I said, watching the sides of his mouth drop. "How about toast and jelly?" I smeared the toast with jelly and set it in front of him. Why was I so angry? I tossed my husband's dishes into the sudsy water.
It was days like this that made me want to quit. I just wanted to drive up to the mountains, hide in a cave, and never come out.
Somehow I managed to lug the wet clothes to the laundromat. I spent most of the day washing and drying clothes and thinking how love had disappeared from my life. Staring at the graffiti on the walls, I felt as wrung-out as the clothes left in the washers.
As I finished hanging up the last of my husband's shirts, I looked at the clock. 2:30. I was late. Jonathan's class let out at 2:15. I dumped the clothes in the back seat and hurriedly drove to the school.
I was out of breath by the time I knocked on the teacher's door and peered through the glass. With one finger, she motioned for me to wait. She said something to Jonathan and handed him and two other children crayons and a sheet of paper.
What now? I thought, as she rustled through the door and took me aside. "I want to talk to you about Jonathan," she said.
I prepared myself for the worst. Nothing would have surprised me. "Did you know Jonathan brought flowers to school today?" she asked. I nodded, thinking about my favorite bush and trying to hide the hurt in my eyes. I glanced at my son busily coloring a picture. His wavy hair was too long and flopped just beneath his brow. He brushed it away with the back of his hand. His eyes burst with blue as he admired his handiwork. "Let me tell you about yesterday," the teacher insisted. "See that little girl?" I watched the bright-eyed child laugh and point to a colorful picture taped to the wall. I nodded.
"Well, yesterday she was almost hysterical. Her mother and father are going through a nasty divorce. She told me she didn't want to live, she wished she could die. I watched that little girl bury her face in her hands and say loud enough for the class to hear, 'Nobody loves me.' I did all I could to console her, but it only seemed to make matters worse." "I thought you wanted to talk to me about Jonathan," I said.
"I do," she said, touching the sleeve of my blouse. "Today your son walked straight over to that child. I watched him hand her some pretty pink flowers and whisper, 'I love you.'"
I felt my heart swell with pride for what my son had done. I smiled at the teacher. "Thank you," I said, reaching for Jonathan's hand, "you've made my day."
Later that evening, I began pulling weeds from around my lopsided azalea bush. As my mind wandered back to the love Jonathan showed the little girl, a biblical verse came to me: "...these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love." While my son had put love into practice, I had only felt anger.
I heard the familiar squeak of my husband's brakes as he pulled into the drive. I snapped a small limb bristling with hot pink azaleas off the bush. I felt the seed of love that God planted in my family beginning to bloom once again in me. My husband's eyes widened in surprise as I handed him the flowers. "I love you," I said.
Manatee meeting
我想我大概永远也搞不清在那个早晨到底发生了什么。我情愿相信是那些海牛和我一起参加了一个新生命的庆祝仪式，而我则是它们邀请的客人。随着时间的流逝，这也成了我珍藏的记忆。
在那次意外的邂逅中，我感受到在这个巨大的星球上，生命之间的一种极致的和谐。这份记忆慢慢变成了忧伤时唱给自己的一首歌，快乐时跳起的一段舞蹈。
Walking alone on a remote beach in southwest Florida, I was startled to hear splashes and a deep sigh coming from the water just offshore.
As I squinted in the direction of the sounds, the rounded gray back of a sea creature rose amid a red froth, rolled turbulently at the surface, then sank back into the Gulf. Moments later a broad nose emerged and exhaled in a great snuffling breath. It was a manatee, and by the looks of the reddish-colored water and the way it was thrashing, it was in trouble.
I had often watched manatees in these warm coastal waters, but I'd never seen one act like this before. Usually just their big nostrils appeared for a gulp of air as they foraged on sea grasses or swam slowly to greener underwater pastures. But I also knew how common it was for these lumbering giants to be gashed by boat propellers or entangled in crab traps.
I wanted to help, but what could I do? There was no one else on the beach, and the nearest phone to call the Marine Patrol was miles away.
Tossing my beach bag onto the sand, I began wading toward the animal, who continued to writhe as if in distress. I was still only waist deep when I came close enough to make out the bristly whiskers on the manatee's muzzle as it thrust up out of the sea. Then, to my surprise, a second muzzle, much smaller, poked up beside it.
I pushed on through the shoal water, but now the manatees were also moving toward me. Before I knew what was happening, I was in chest-deep water encircled by not one or two, but at least three blimplike bodies. I felt elated and slightly dizzy like the kid who is 'it' in a schoolyard game.
A bulbous snout emerged next to me. In the translucent water, I could clearly see the rest of the huge mammal, and there, nestled close behind her, a smaller version of her massive body.
Then, with incredible gentleness for such an enormous creature, the larger manatee nudged the little one with her paddle-shaped flipper and pushed it to the surface beside me. I wanted to reach out and touch the pudgy sea baby, but I hesitated, not knowing the rules of this inter-species encounter.
As the two slipped back underwater, two other manatees moved in from behind and slid by, one on either side, rubbing gently against my body as they swam past. They circled and repeated the action, this time followed by the mother and her calf. Emboldened by their overtures, I let my hand graze the side of the small manatee, now clinging to the mother's back, as they made their pass. Its skin felt rubbery and firm like an old fashioned hot water bottle.
The group completed several more circuits. Since they obviously enjoyed touching me, I began stroking each of them as they sidled by. When one of them rolled over for a scratch, I knew I had made the right move.
Eventually my new friends made their way off towards deeper water. I stood anchored to the spot, not wishing to break the spell, until finally the rising tide forced me back to shore.
I suppose I will never know exactly what took place that morning. I like to think that the manatees included me in their celebration of a birth; that I was welcomed to meet the newest member of their tribe. But over time I have come to cherish the experience without questions.
During that unexpected rendezvous, I felt more in tune with the rhythms of life on this vast planet than I ever have. The memory has become a song I sing to myself when I have the blues, a dance I do to celebrate joy.
And each year, during the last week of May, I pack a lunch and head for that isolated stretch of beach for a quiet little birthday picnic on the shore. After all, you never know who might show up for the party.
For girls only
爱自己是一场毕生浪漫的开始。热爱一切使你之所以成为你自己的事物。你的价值，你的才能，你的回忆。你的服饰，你的悲伤。如果你爱自己，你就能在自信的跳板上跃入生活。如果你爱自己，你就能畅所欲言，所向披靡。
To love oneself is the beginning of a lifelong romance. ―Oscar Wilde
Love yourself. Love the things that make you you.Your values and talents and memories.Your clothes, your nose, your woes. If you love yourself, you can jump into your life from a springboard of self-confidence. If you love yourself, you can say what you want to say, go where you want to go. The world can be a tough place, and some of the billions of people out there will try to knock you down. Don't join them. Do things that make you proud, then take pride in what you do. And in who you are.
Who are you anyway? What makes you you? How are you like your siblings and neighbors and friends? How are you different? If you were your own secret admirer, what would you most admire?
"My great mistake, the fault for which I can't forgive myself," Oscar Wilde wrote, "is that one day I ceased my obstinate pursuit of my own individuality." Keep pursuing your individuality. Keep being yourself. Becoming yourself. It can be comforting to dress and act like everyone else. But it is grander to be different, to be unique, to be you. I'm the only me in the whole wide world.
There is always one true inner voice. Trust it. ―Gloria Steinem
Sometimes it's hard to know who you are and what you want and whom you like and why you like that person.The answers change because you're changing. Growing. But deep inside, you are you.You were you as a baby, you were you as a kid, and you are you right now. "Let me listen to me and not to them," wrote Gertrude Stein. It makes sense to consider the advice and opinions of other people. But don't let their noise drown out your inner voice. And don't let the way you sometimes talk or behave in front of others make you lose sight of who you are when you are alone, when you are most you.
"You can live a lifetime and, at the end of it, know more about other people than you know about yourself," aviator Beryl Markham cautioned. Get acquainted with yourself. Tune in to the dreams you have by day and by night. Blend in when you choose to, but appreciate what sets you apart. "The more I like me, the less I want to pretend to be other people," said Jamie Lee Curtis.
Anybody can be one of the crowd.
Work with the "Now"
There are some people who are completely happy with themselves, their lives, and their prospects for the future. While they can be considered to be more fortunate than most, most who do not fall into that category are not as bad off as they tend to believe. Instead, they are simply lacking something, or making mistakes, which are standing in the way of their lives being as fulfilling as they would prefer. Some even go as far as to not realize the immense potential they possess.
What is the main difference between those lucky individuals whose lives seem to be wonderfully on-track and those who, often despite every step of trying on their part, appear to have all of the odds stacked against them? While in some cases it is a matter of some people having better luck than others, those whose lives are content in the moment and proceeding in the direction of their choice, do not live in the past.
Whether you are thinking about your personality or your life in general, success means focusing on the here-and-now. While it is important to acknowledge the choices and experiences which resulted in you being where you are today, it is equally important to not allow yourself to become so caught up in thoughts of the past that the present day passes you by.
Self-motivation is the key to ensuring that you do not continue repeating the same mistakes. You may have had one or more errors in judgment which led you to take the wrong path, or to make mistakes that were not in your best interest. You can acknowledge this without rehashing them over and over again in your mind, and simply be determined to make different, better decisions today.
Then is over; this is now. The less time and effort you put into looking at the past, the more you will have for living and experiencing this day. You will also find that letting go of the past will give you a deeper sense of strength. Instead of allowing past mistakes and worries to drain your energies, you will have a renewed energy to live your life to the fullest and enjoy it more.
Being content with yourself and optimistic about your future is not difficult. Whatever is in the past is over; learn from it and move on. When you are self-motivated enough to do this, you will see that moving ahead is the best definition of living life.
With that said, what can you do now? Sure it is easy for me to tell you to forget the past, yet it is a whole different practice to actually do it. Life is a complex set of events much of which of course is real, yet a large amount is just your view of what really happened.
Let me explain with an example. I know not everyone is a football fan but I am guessing most have watched at least part of a game on TV. Most plays and almost all the important plays are played over and over on the TV screen right after the play happened.
How many times have you watched a play and were certain and I mean certain of the outcome, say the player caught a pass, then watching the instant replay you realize you were totally wrong, the player dropped the pass. What you were certain you saw, never happened.
The first step in trying to minimize the effects of your past in order to concentrate on your future is to find out how much of the past that you are certain happened were just mistakes on your part.
A quick example might be as a teenager you tried to build a piece of furniture out of scrape wood in your father's workshop. The piece of furniture looked good when you finished but fell apart before you could show your father and you assumed your were a lousy carpenter and the rest of your life you have avoided building anything. Yet the reality was the scrap wood you used was faulty and not your building ability.
Yet the rest of your life you have believed mistakenly you are a poor builder of things.
All you remember
All you remember about your child being an infant is the incredible awe you felt about the precious miracle you created. You remember having plenty of time to bestow all your wisdom and knowledge. You thought your child would take all of your advice and make fewer mistakes, and be much smarter than you were. You wished for your child to hurry and grow up.
All you remember about your child being two is never using the restroom alone or getting to watch a movie without talking animals. You recall afternoons talking on the phone while crouching in the bedroom closet, and being convinced your child would be the first Ivy League college student to graduate wearing pullovers at the ceremony. You remember worrying about the bag of M＆M's melting in your pocket and ruining your good dress. You wished for your child to be more independent.
All you remember about your child being five is the first day of school and finally having the house to yourself. You remember joining the PTA and being elected president when you left a meeting to use the restroom. You remember being asked "Is Santa real?" and saying "yes" because he had to be for a little bit longer. You remember shaking the sofa cushions for loose change, so the toothfairy could come and take away your child's first lost tooth. You wished for your child to have all permanent teeth.
All you remember about your child being seven is the carpool schedule. You learned to apply makeup in two minutes and brush your teeth in the rearview mirror because the only time you had to yourself was when you were stopped at red lights. You considered painting your car yellow and posting a "taxi" sign on the lawn next to the garage door. You remember people staring at you, the few times you were out of the car, because you kept flexing your foot and making acceleration noises. You wished for the day your child would learn how to drive.
All you remember about your child being ten is managing the school fund�raisers. You sold wrapping paper for paint, T�shirts for new furniture, and magazine subscriptions for shade trees in the school playground. You remember storing a hundred cases of candy bars in the garage to sell so the school band could get new uniforms, and how they melted together on an unseasonably warm spring afternoon. You wished your child would grow out of playing an instrument.
All you remember about your child being twelve is sitting in the stands during baseball practice and hoping your child's team would strike out fast because you had more important things to do at home. The coach didn't understand how busy you were. You wished the baseball season would be over soon.
All you remember about your child being fourteen is being asked not to stop the car in front of the school in the morning. You had to drive two blocks further and unlock the doors without coming to a complete stop. You remember not getting to kiss your child goodbye or talking to him in front of his friends. You wished your child would be more mature.
All you remember about your child being sixteen is loud music and undecipherable lyrics screamed to a rhythmic beat. You wished for your child to grow up and leave home with the stereo.
All you remember about your child being eighteen is the day they were born and having all the time in the world.
And, as you walk through your quiet house, you wonder where they went and you wish your child hadn't grown up so fast.
