Lessons Learned

You think you know me. But I’ve fooled you with my ordinary clothing and passive manner. I want you to think I’m weak, submissive. I want to gain your trust. If you only knew

What’s it like to live over 1,000 years? What’s it like to watch all of your earthly attachments fade? Ask me sometime. It’s not all bad.

Sit down, let me buy you a coffee. I think you should hear what I have to say. Experiencing a millennium away from home was been an interesting experience to say the least, but I’ve decided that today is the day I quit. I don’t want to be eternal anymore.

A lot can change in 1000 years. When I last saw my hometown, people got around in vehicles powered by small explosions, spent 5 days a week working for someone else. I can’t wait to see what’s there now.

History does not always progress in straight lines. Those small explosions pollute the air we breathe when they’re crowded in one place. They thought building bigger roads was a solution but more vehicles came to occupy them and with them more small explosions.

The explosions became a daily event, and soon after, an hourly event. The noise and pollution were jarring, but worse was the smell. Pungent and often described as ‘farty’ they inspired a slew of new inventions: smell-free headwear, fog-free glasses, ventilated filtered helmets.

But the smell was too much to handle, no matter how many inventions they came up with. The daily rutine was running to the abandon store, get some cans of beans, of sausages and canned bread...and run back as fast as possible not to smell the smelly smell.

They tried face masks. They tried wrapping seaweed around their nostrils (ancient trick their grandparents taught them.) They even tried oxygen tanks! Nothing worked! But at least they still had a reliable stockpile of canned bread. This made the smell bearable.

One day, after huffing an immoderate amount of canned bread, they ventured outside. A northerly breeze carried something new—a lack of the stench. They became drawn in the direction of the undocked air, when they heard a voice. “I am Darren, keeper of the northlands.”

They whirled around in panic, lashing out their fists, until they accidentally hit each other and crashed to the ground. "Idiots," the voice said. "That's the south you're facing. I said I'm the keeper of the NORTHlands. Not that you can see me. Once again, I'm Darren. Choose:

you may continue to the south and face either certain death or unspeakable fortune, or you may turn to the north, where you will always be in poverty but never want for happiness. Choose. You have ten minutes.” Darren was silent, then, and the others blinked hard and looked at

him expectantly. It was a hard choice. Money couldn’t buy happiness, but happiness wouldn’t pay the bills. But would the shackles of poverty even matter if he had endless happiness? He took a breath before straightening himself and giving his answer.

“I choose money.” He has to put his family first. He knew he may never truly smile again. But he didn’t care, he knew he couldn’t put himself before the ones he loved. Choosing happiness over money would have done that. Then one day

the money ran out. Stocks dropped, seasons changed, and suddenly everything his hopes rested on toppled, along with his family’s security and happiness. He couldn’t help but feel that perhaps happiness and money were both means to a cruel end. He then decided that

life was meaningless. If happiness meant nothing good, and money couldn't buy a good life, then what else was there to strive for? Survival, despite the odds? Maybe he should join WallStreetBets.

Knowing the history of WSB and their nefarious practices, it was a death sentence to even consider that, but they say everyone has a price and maybe..... I've found mine.

I swallowed hard, ignoring the tight ball of nerves in my stomach, and tried to focus on the potential benefits my family could reap from my unholy alliance. I bid adieu to any hope of my own salvation, and... signed the contract.