The Curmudgeon's Quests, by Allan Wooley​

When I found out Mr. Parris died, I sat on my porch and wept — the mailman didn't know what to do when he saw me there, blocking the mailbox. 

What a heartbreaking loss for the whole world. 

Last week, I found out that yet another teacher who shaped my high school experience had died. Though sad, I took comfort in learning that he'd published three books in his retirement. 

I'm only on page 20 of Crumbs Cast Upon the Current: Some Stories, Poems, and Essays... but I already wish that all of my teachers would write a memoir before it's too late. 

They say money can't buy happiness -- but they're totally wrong. First of all, on a log scale, more money does​ mean more happiness:

"That Christmas dress -- my lord!" someone said recently when I posted this photo on my Instagram. It simultaneously felt nice to get a compliment... and slightly uncomfortable, because for some reason, our culture drills into us that it's bad to accept a compliment. 

"Eva, just admit it," a guy friend insisted recently. 'You're a flirt."

"What exactly do I do that makes you think that?"

He pondered for a moment, before sheepishly answering, "You smile... and make eye contact.​

It was simple, really.

People who don't know much about life coaching love to poo poo life coaching. Like, looooove. 

And I understand why. The idea that a 25-year-old with two years of work experience knows what it takes to make you a CEO... is a little absurd. 

People get their panties up in the HUGEST bunch when I have the nerve to say things like, "I love the way I look," or, "I'm really good at sports." It's like a trigger -- without knowing anything about me, or even finishing the article, they decide I'm "arrogant" and "vain" and "narcissistic."

But I'm actually not. (Seriously -- I checked. According to Dr. Craig Malkin's Rethinking Narcissism, I score very highly on "healthy self-regard," but pretty low on "narcissism.")

Sometimes, spaces look playful... but you can't actually play in them. image: reddit​

Don't get me wrong. I love ball pits as much as the next guy. I spent pretty much every afternoon of my childhood at Chuck E. Cheese (and, unlike kids today, I actually got to run around and play by myself while the parents drank pitchers of beer). I'm all about play, and I'm stoked that so many Silicon Valley startups want ball pits.

But here's the thing: many designers and office managers think their job is complete once they've got that ball pit installed.

Creating a playful office space requires more than that.

"Hey! You want to try and see the meteor shower this weekend?"

​Umm, no. But I'll try to see it. Or, maybe, I'll even try seeing it. 

You're entitled to your own opinion. But you are not entitled to your own facts. Which is why I'm taking the time to point out some of the reasons that words are not violence -- and that there is truth to the old rhyme, "Sticks and stones can break my bones, but names will never hurt me."