I used to hate it. When I was a kid, my parents had often encouraged me to read. They would take me to the library, buy me children’s books and occasionally point at a kid who was burying his nose in a book and suggest I do the same. But why? I asked them. Why should I read if I don’t enjoy it? Reading just isn’t as fun as, you know, playing with Barbie dolls or digging up worms in the garden. “Reading will make you smarter,” they proclaimed. If you read a lot of books, it’ll help you at life.
I once thought that happiness came from achieving a big milestone of success, like graduating from a good college, getting a fat paycheck every month, finding the love of your life, buying a new home and raising talented kids. It’s what everyone — including my parents, teachers and friends — has nudged me to pursue as my ‘destiny’.
“Brush teeth. Go to work. Come home. Eat dinner. Sleep.
Brush teeth. Go to work. Come home. Eat dinner. Sleep.”These were the words of someone mumbling under his breath as he brushed his teeth in front of the mirror — a mantra he has recited over the years to keep himself sane.
“So what motivates you to put in your greatest effort?”
If I ask this question to people, their response usually revolves around money or passion or people they admire.
For me, it’s this:
Dear future Tiffany, Today, if you wake up feeling just as you had yesterday, feeling disheartened, feeling down because you haven’t yet achieved the kind of success you want and are ready to give up on your dreams, WAKE UP. Drag yourself