I’m sure I’ve said this before, but at the risk of repeating myself (and that risk has never stopped me before), many of my Hates have dissipated as I get older. In keeping with my Renewed Positive Outlook on Life, I’ve tried to whittle down my Hates to the most essential and manageable–i.e., specific things that I can actively change. Everything else should get nothing stronger than a shaking of my fist.
But there are a few Blanket Hates I still carry around with me, and one of them popped up recently. When the Mega Millions jackpot rose to a ridiculously large jackpot, NY1 interviewed hopeful lotto players about what they would do with their winnings. Their answers were nothing infuriating–retire, pay off debt, and so on. And yet when I saw these people spending hypothetical riches, I wanted to throw my remote through the TV. What a buncha jerks, I thought.
Immediately, I questioned the virulence of my own hate. Why get so mad at these people? So they want to play the lotto and dream up imaginary wealth–who cares?
And then I remembered my summer working at a convenience store, dispensing all forms of lotto, and I questioned my hate no more.