AreaSIX

Make a negative post about the US and watch the same people complaining in this thread suddenly become super-“patriotic” and defend the way things are in the US at all cost. You need to redefine what it means to be patriotic IMO. As long as patriotism in the US is understood as reflexively defending what the American government has done at all times, there’s nothing anyone outside of the US can do to help.

Patriotism should be looking after the interests of your fellow citizens, and that should routinely mean being opposed to the government, not rallying around it as soon as it’s criticized by an “outsider”. It’s bizarre watching so many people from oppressed minorities being gung-ho flag wavers while the government is planning to put them in internment camps.

No replies on the holding the door and smiling being the sign of a swindler? That actually sounds like you live in an exceptionally hostile place. I’m swedish, as in people not exactly known for showing a lot of warmth to each other in public, and I always hold the door, and smile at people very often. The smiling part might be somewhat unusual here in Sweden too, but not unusual as in bad or a sign of a swindler. Most people seem to appreciate these behaviors, or I’m absolutely delusional and everyone secretly views me as a swindler.

Here I thought I was ancient because it was combat. Seems like there are many of us old farts around here.

Reddit used to have a lot of good posts full of wisdom. This was posted there around 10 years ago in reply to someone struggling with losing their child… It has helped me, and countless others, immensely with putting grief and loss in a proper perspective. Just beautiful.

I didn’t write this, but I reread it every time I lose someone I love, and it has helped me a lot. Hope it can do the same for you.

"Alright, here goes. I’m old. What that means is that I’ve survived (so far) and a lot of people I’ve known and loved did not. I’ve lost friends, best friends, acquaintances, co-workers, grandparents, mom, relatives, teachers, mentors, students, neighbors, and a host of other folks. I have no children, and I can’t imagine the pain it must be to lose a child. But here’s my two cents.

I wish I could say you get used to people dying. I never did. I don’t want to. It tears a hole through me whenever somebody I love dies, no matter the circumstances. But I don’t want it to “not matter”. I don’t want it to be something that just passes. My scars are a testament to the love and the relationship that I had for and with that person. And if the scar is deep, so was the love. So be it. Scars are a testament to life. Scars are a testament that I can love deeply and live deeply and be cut, or even gouged, and that I can heal and continue to live and continue to love. And the scar tissue is stronger than the original flesh ever was. Scars are a testament to life. Scars are only ugly to people who can’t see.

As for grief, you’ll find it comes in waves. When the ship is first wrecked, you’re drowning, with wreckage all around you. Everything floating around you reminds you of the beauty and the magnificence of the ship that was, and is no more. And all you can do is float. You find some piece of the wreckage and you hang on for a while. Maybe it’s some physical thing. Maybe it’s a happy memory or a photograph. Maybe it’s a person who is also floating. For a while, all you can do is float. Stay alive.

In the beginning, the waves are 100 feet tall and crash over you without mercy. They come 10 seconds apart and don’t even give you time to catch your breath. All you can do is hang on and float. After a while, maybe weeks, maybe months, you’ll find the waves are still 100 feet tall, but they come further apart. When they come, they still crash all over you and wipe you out. But in between, you can breathe, you can function. You never know what’s going to trigger the grief. It might be a song, a picture, a street intersection, the smell of a cup of coffee. It can be just about anything…and the wave comes crashing. But in between waves, there is life.

Somewhere down the line, and it’s different for everybody, you find that the waves are only 80 feet tall. Or 50 feet tall. And while they still come, they come further apart. You can see them coming. An anniversary, a birthday, or Christmas, or landing at O’Hare. You can see it coming, for the most part, and prepare yourself. And when it washes over you, you know that somehow you will, again, come out the other side. Soaking wet, sputtering, still hanging on to some tiny piece of the wreckage, but you’ll come out.

Take it from an old guy. The waves never stop coming, and somehow you don’t really want them to. But you learn that you’ll survive them. And other waves will come. And you’ll survive them too. If you’re lucky, you’ll have lots of scars from lots of loves. And lots of shipwrecks."

My dog. Easily the most value I’ve ever got for my money, no comparison.