Happiness

Rebecca (Bert to my Ernie, Rachel to my Monica, Trapper to my Hawkeye) overheard this conversation on the subway the other day. Two young bankers were talking, the kind who look like they just removed their baseball caps and sexual double-entendre t-shirts, hit the group shower for an invigorating rinse and towel-snapping and pulled on some spanking new suits from J. Capitalist. But these weren’t your average shallow young financiers. These young financiers were the philosophizing kind, and their wisdom is this:

“Life is what you make it. I learned that a long time ago. If you want to be depressed, then you will be. If I wanted to be depressed, I could be, like, a drunk poetry writer.”

And if I wanted to be depressed, I’d stop drinking and writing and be a banker.