A friend recently read a self help book that made her so sad she had to put it away, thus confirming my own belief that such tomes only make us dwell too much on what we need to improve and not what we already do well.
Never mind that the same friend is a big fan of self help books, who just didn’t find this one to be right for her, I tend to paint the genre in broad, negative strokes.
Why? Because my mom was always telling me I should read this one or that one when I knew that on the happiness scale I ranked a solid eight, while she hovered around a four. Who knows, though? Without the books she might’ve scored even lower.
There was one piece of wisdom, though, that she gleaned from her readings that made perfect sense to me, and that given the opportunity I always pass along to others who might benefit:
No one else is responsible for your happiness. You alone hold that key.
Now that’s some solid self help.