Everyone living a robotic routine life and wondering how miserable your dull life has become….
Read this and you will find what you are missing in life.
I wonder when life stopped being a game.
I wonder when I stopped playing.
I wonder if I could start again, somehow.
I was sitting at a friend’s orchestra performance. After a few rounds of clapping, I had become acutely aware of the red spots on my raw hands. “Why does that-freaking-conductor keep leaving the room and coming back in?” I wondered, irritated. Because seriously. My hands, guys. They don’t need to take this abuse.
As the applause died down for the fifth (sixth?) time, I clasped my hands and remembered the games I used to play as a kid. My teeny-tiny hands perceived a round of applause as a call to competition. I would concentrate on being the loudest clap or, more frequently, the last clap–quietly tapping my hands together after everyone else had finished showing their appreciation, feeling a proud, silent victory when I was responsible for the last small sound from the audience.
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