Sometimes you need to hear about someone else’s problems to make you appreciate your own more.
An old friend called me today. She’s one of those friends I’ve known forever and like very much, but sometimes a few years elapse between conversations or get-togethers. So we were on the phone, catching up on each other’s lives, and I asked about her daughter, who is in her 20s.
My friend told me that her daughter attempted suicide two years ago by jumping from her balcony. She survived, but suffered catastrophic injuries, including paralysis. She’s still in the hospital.
My own problems – like goutweed in my garden, a dying refrigerator, and an allergic rash from the dye used in the CT scan – suddenly seemed like awfully good problems to have.
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