I know a young woman who has a happy marriage and a beautiful family. She excels in her career and has achieved a leadership position within it. The other day she told my wife that she lives in a charmed bubble of a life. Those who pride themselves in being fully conversant with the stifling miseries of life often look down on those living in happy bubbles. These critics claim that it suggests shallowness, callousness, self-centeredness, and even a certain stupidity. Yet who among us has not rejoiced when entering an environment full of hope and happiness– if for no other reason than recharging our batteries?
But surely as streaming bubbles of bliss can be criticized for being out of touch with reality, so too can the relentless gurgling gloom spewed forth by 24/7 breaking cable news. Actually if one must become addicted to bubbles either blissful or glum, I vote for the blissful marbled ones rather than the murky, fated dirigible-like prisons of bloated, unrelieved hell. Why must only nightmares be real?
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