I like to consider myself a “nice guy.” Aside from the fits of violence upon NY’s homeless and elderly population, I comport myself with extreme chivalry, during most venues. I am a family man, law abiding citizen, generous with friends and employees. Because of these things, I should feel entitled to some sort of boon, something in return for my better than average behavior on Earth.
Hell, I might imagine myself to be infallible and invest my money accordingly, since the world “owes me.”
Here’s the cold dose of realism.
There is no such thing as karma, chi or mystical being looking down on me, rewarding cookies for a job well done and bolts of lightening whenever I slap people with hot slices of pizza. It’s just me versus the world, in a giant rat race designed to kill me before the age of 80.
When it rains outside, it isn’t because you were acting like a real jerk. And when you got that promotion, it wasn’t because your charitable donations convinced the “karma Gods” that you were deserving.
The market is a bitch. It pushes and pushes until you capitulate, on both the long and short side. There’s a reason for that. Human emotions are not very complex and we all have a tipping point. For example, should you prod me with undesirable childhood nicknames– more than 5 times– the chances of me killing you rise exponentially. We’re all in a giant fish-tank, eating the same chum. Sometime soon, there will be a tipping point, either way up or way down.
Whichever way it goes, mind you, it will have nothing to do with your lack of deportment in public venues or the amount of money you donate to kids with cancer.