If you were born in the 70s and 80s, and are considered mature people, then this text is about you. Do you go to work every day, but still haven't made fabulous money? Routine is not fun and are you sure you were born for a better life? Then listen to the bitter truth about yourself, and nothing but the truth …
The High Claim Trap, or Why We Will Never Be Happy? Our grandmothers' generation rarely dreamed of princes, overseas resorts, or even a glass of Martini. It all seemed like an unattainable luxury. The grandmothers enjoyed the peaceful sky, the opportunity to earn a piece of bread, and stable work. They rejoiced, in principle, almost any husband - from those years came the famous: if only he did not drink or beat. And they spent most of the time left over from hard work and the birth of children to equip comfort, as Minaev says, "from shit and cobwebs."
Our generation does not remember those hungry times. Today's 30-year-olds do not even really remember the hardships of the dashing 90s: they met them as children. Therefore, many of the claims of modern granddaughters to grandmothers seem "zazhrat". Granddaughters don't want to work in a factory or at a construction site. They don't want to work at all - let the migrant workers work. Men dream of being oligarchs sitting on their ass straight, they don't want to work with their hands, they treat work with contempt. They'd rather be playing the computer for half a day as a manager than pushing their hands in. Women are even worse. They are completely lazy. Ideally successful is considered a loafer, a parasite on an oligarch, a kept woman. Moreover, whoever hits the kept women, ignoring all the laws of supply and demand. The market is oversaturated with predatory idle women.
Of course, having set themselves the bottom bar for Brad Pete, they will never be happy. There will always be some goats around. Compare the fat 2000s and even today's turbulent country with all the other years in its history since the turn of the century. Objectively, life has become better and easier. Subjectively, a requiem for hopes is heard from everywhere. These are unrecognized geniuses groaning. Unrecognized and self-proclaimed. Nobody wants to be easier. Satedness Another cause of all our misfortunes, I declare satiety. Remember how delicious stew with potatoes on charcoal seems to be on a hike. What pleasure does a mug of alcohol put in a circle? Now compare that with the feeling we have in a restaurant when Mojito is already bored and Martini Royal is out of stock.
Bars no longer know how to surprise us. Octopuses in every supermarket. There are also exotic fruits, rivers of alcohol … We got drunk, gentlemen. We eat too much and tasty, we get everything too easily. We do not appreciate the clothes from the previous collection, forgetting how our grandmothers darned socks. We whine that we feel bad in comfortable cars with kondeem.
In general, we always whine and eat. We are never enough, nothing surprises. Mavrodi said correctly - where there is satiety, a vacuum is formed there. No wonder he, having rebuilt his pyramid in South Africa, is wearing the same tracksuit and fishing. To be happy, you have to limit yourself. It is not for nothing that fasting exists in any religion.
The hungrier a person is, the tastier the food. The more zazhratiya a person, the more tasteless the food, and the more unhappy the soul. Selfishness For some reason we were brought up in such a way that everyone owes us. We did not go to school 5 kilometers away, biting into the granite of science. The teachers in the beak brought us knowledge. We did not help our parents in the field - we were always provided with a hot breakfast. Many of them don't want children.
Why care about someone? Infantile men are waiting for a caring mother. Women are waiting for the mentally retarded oligarch to jump on his neck and not work. Nobody wants to do, give, give!
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We scold the government, fire up the presidents, howl that the country is a mess? And who are we ourselves, gentlemen? Who, if we face it? And what are we really worthy?
