Men don't like to wear hats; women wish they could were them more often.

Hats are a funny thing. We wear them for protection from the elements or for decoration. That would be, respectively, men and women. Cowboys and society ladies.

If you've ever seen a photo of a group of men in the 1930s or 1940s or even 1950s, they all are wearing hats. But in the 1960s and beyond, they aren't. The same could be said, more or less, for women. What happened?

How did hats go out of fashion?

There are some who say that John Kennedy ushered in the no-hats era for men when he was elected President in 1960. He may actually have worn a top-hat at the time, ceremonially, but I'm not much of a scholar, so I don't know. But I do know that he didn't wear a hat much after that. He was pretty much bare-headed. And so were the men from then on.


By the way, the traditional male hat of that era was a fedora, which the dictionary defines as "a low soft felt hat with a crown creased lengthwise." Your dad or grand-dad probably had more than one, which he wore every day. Surely you've seen it, at least in old photos, or can imagine it.


But I have to wonder if maybe the arrival of the Beatles about the same time -- early Sixites -- didn't also hammer another nail into that hat coffin. Men fifty years ago -- pre-Beatles -- had short hair, slicked back, so a hat didn't alter your head appearance. Once hairstyles got longer, the hat would flatten your hair and give you what we now call "hat-head".

Can you imagine Ringo in a fedora?

Granted there are men who have worn hats in the past -- from the crowned kings of old to the Indian chiefs with their head dresses of eagle feathers to the boys of today with baseball caps turned backward -- but they're pretty much out of fashion now, or should be. Most men don't like hats. They find them uncomfortable, and that's that. (Except cowboys, who are a breed unto themselves and even wear hats indoors, an issue I won't address right now. )

But what happened to women and hats?

I don't have an answer for that. I'm guessing that it goes back to the same time, the Sixties, when girls started letting their hair grow long and straight and, maybe rebelling against their moms, didn't wear hats. Let it all hang out, literally. (Although I do have a photo of Janis Joplin during that time in a very funky hat.)

But some natural instincts trump cultural periods. Women have always loved hats. In all times and in most cultures. And they still do, even in our current age that discourages them. I have heard of black women in the South who wear extravagant hats to church every Sunday. And a group of women who wear red hats (though I'm not sure the reason). And Lord knows that women at society functions still put on their favorite hat.

Women will wear hats, regardless. It's a law of nature.

I suspect there are many women who have lots of hats in their closets and would love to wear them and are just waiting for permission to do so.

Permission from whom? The purveyors of fashion, I suppose, who are almost all men. Men who dictate how high your heels should be each season and what color you should be wearing -- and whether or not it's okay for you to wear your favorite hat.

I say it's time for you women to stand up for yourselves and say "I will wear my hat!" Who cares what the prevailing color of the season is or whether it fits with my wardrobe? I will wear my favorite hat because I love it and because it expresses who I am!

I say match it to your outfit or not, depending on how you feel when you wake up that morning. Maybe your husband is being an asshole and your kids don't appreciate you. Or maybe you just got a promotion. Or you're ten pounds over what you want to weigh . Or you are meeting an old friend for lunch. Or . . . you get the point? Pick a hat to fit your mood that day. Wear it and the rest be damned!

So what are you waiting for, women of the 21st century? Put on your hats! Wear them with pride! We men may be simple creatures, but we know when our women look good, God bless us, and we know you look divine in hats. The right hat on the right woman makes our hearts race!

In the end, though, look good not for a man, or even for another woman, but for yourself. Stand in front of that mirror and say, "This is the me I'm presenting to the world today, so watch out!"

Take it from me, if I didn't have to worry about hat-head, I'd wear one. Hats are way cool!

Get ready for things to go wrong as you get older.

We're all getting older and, as we do, things are going to start going wrong. In our twenties, we're going strong, everything physical and mental all clicking together. In our thirties, it's pretty much the same -- trust me: I've been there. (But if you're a woman, this is when you have to begin thinking about your fertility and whether or not you've found a good man to fertilize your eggs. If you're a man, you probably won't notice much difference.)

In your forties, you may notice some subtle differences: you're starting to gain some weight, get a little softer around the middle (if you're male) or put on some pounds around the hips (if you're female). If you've been exercising regularly, you may not be aware of these changes and may think that you're still the person you were in your twenties and thirties.

Unfortunately, it's not true. Changes are happening inside you, unseen, that will affect you in later years. Your arteries may or may be getting clogged -- depending on your diet -- and any old inherited abnormalities -- diabetes, heart problems, etc. -- may rear their ugly heads. Your forties are the time to start getting those check-ups, okay?

In your fifties, if you read the obituaries, you'll notice that some people your age are dying of cancer and heart ailments. Or "un-disclosed causes", whatever that means. (It's interesting that most obituaries don't list the cause of death, which I'm sure most of us in this age range would love to know: what to avoid, and how?) If you're still exercising, keep it up. Maybe modify your work-outs in recognition of the fact that your muscles aren't going to be growing much more and that your joints may need attention: maybe more treadmill, less jogging on the asphalt roads. More yoga, less weights. Women should be getting the dreaded mammograms, men the equally dreaded prostate exams.

Once you hit your sixites, you're probably still feeling pretty good -- though you don't look quite like that photo of yourself at twenty or thirty -- and, if you're up to it, you should keep doing what you were doing in your fifties. You're still basically the same person, with maybe a few more aches and pains. But make those check-ups once a year now, not just whenever you think of it. Lots of stuff going on internally now that needs to be monitored. Breast cancers for women, prostate cancers for men -- among lots of other hazards too numerous to name.

I'm not qualified to say what men and women should be doing in their seventies to stave off the ravages of old age, as I'm not there yet. I assume it's more of the same: stay as fit as you can and get check-ups and try not to drink or smoke too much. And eat your veggies, right? Right.

If you've lived that long and don't feel too bad, you're probably doing what you should be doing.

A couple of decades ago, a sixty-year old man or woman was OLD. But with modern diets and theories of exercise, etc., those folks are still playing not just golf but tennis! And jogging. And maybe whacking a ball around in a softball league. Bowling for sure. Still active. Both men and women today are years younger than their predecessors, their parents. Lord, their own grandparents -- our great-grandparents -- were ready for the rocking chair by now! Or were dead. Even if we don't keep ourselves as physically fit as we should, we have access to much stronger drugs that help us keep our hearts functioning so much longer. We can all enjoy life all the way to the end.

But you and I know what is coming. Old age. Whether it hits us at seventy or eighty or ninety,
it's on its way, and nothing can stop it. So get ready.

Prepare for it now. Get those check-ups -- your heart, your cholesterol, your whatever -- and do what the doctor says. It's coming. No matter how good you feel, no matter how many miles you put in on your bike or the hiking trails or the dreaded treadmill at the health club: old age is lying in wait for you. As you get older, everything is going to get harder.

But that doesn't mean it all happens at once. You don't wake up at 60 and find that your knees have given out. You don't, all of a sudden, discover that you can't do 20 push-ups or a single pull-up (what we used to call a chin-up). It happens gradually, and all you have to do, to maintain the fitness you now enjoy -- assuming you enjoy some level of fitness -- is adjust your level of activity down instead of up.

You're no longer trying to build muscle mass by adding weights to whatever you're lifting, or miles to whatever you're running. You're trying instead to maintain what you have for as long as you can. If and when you have to reduce the weights you can lift or the miles you can run, then do it. Keep paring it down as you get older.

But don't ever give it up. Don't ever spend a whole day on the sofa watching TV, not doing anything at all for your body. Get out there and do SOMETHING! Walk. Stretch. Bend. Lift some light weights. Walk that horrible treadmill (while listening to something on your Ipod).

Consider, too, how fortunate you are to have gotten to the age you are. I'm a Viet Nam vet, and I saw -- literally -- many young men who never got to see even their 21st birthday. (The same applies to those unfortunate boys and girls in Iraq: such a needless loss.) And the newspapers are sadly full of stories of young people dead in car crashes or from over-doses or, even worse, child abuse. Just be glad that you're still alive, whatever age you are.

And make the most of it! Take up a new hobby or make new friends or start walking/hiking!
For your mind, read a novel or do a crossword puzzle. Discuss that novel with friends or a group. Do that crossword with someone else. And have a glass of wine (or two) in the bargain. Exercise your brain the same way you exercise your body.

I remember, from when I was kid (many years ago), hearing about the artist Grandma Moses, who started painting when she was older than you and I are now. As long as your body and your brain are still intact and working together, you can do anything you want. Don't give up, and don't give in. We have much to teach the young'uns -- whether they want to hear it or not.

Hey, get to know your grandchildren: they may be more receptive to what you have to say than your kids -- and they are the future.

I always loved the quote from a very old guy (nearing 100) who was asked what he most liked about getting old. He said, "I don't have to take any more guff."

That's my motto as I age. "No more guff!" In other words, no more crap! Don't whine to me. Don't lie to me because you think I'm old and won't know anything. Don't condescend to me. Don't act like I don't have a brain. Don't laud your youth over me: I was young once, too, and know that you don't know squat! You have something to say to me? Say it.

I always wanted to have this put on a bumper sticker: "Life is short. Get to the point!"

In other words, as I get older, as I hope I will, I want everyone to either tell me the truth or get out of my way! I'm too old, and too smart, to play games!

Long live us old folks! The elders of the tribe!

Honor us or beware!

What do you say when someone says "thank you"?

In the old days, you would say, "You're welcome." That has been the standard response for a long time. Thank you. You're welcome. (Or is it welcomed?)

Let's break that down. The "thank you" means that you appreciate what someone has done for you, right? You're thanking them. They've done something for you that they didn't have to do but did, probably just for you.

So what does "You're welcome" mean?

Does it mean that you are welcoming that person back into your life? That implies that you'd excluded them previously. Or is it just something we say that we've gotten used to saying without over-thinking it? "Thank you." "You're welcome."

The problem is that the response to "Thank you" has provoked nowadays any number of responses that we old-timers don't recognize. How often have you ordered a coffee or just checked out of your grocery store and said, "Thanks" to the guy sacking your stuff or the woman handing you a coffee drink and gotten in reply "No problem"?

No problem for who/whom? Presumably the server. It was no problem for him or her to give you what you'd ordered/paid for. Well, of course it was not a problem, as you had paid for what they were ringing up.

I've noticed another one while listening to NPR (National Public Radio). They do a story with a corrrespondent in another part of the world and some public figure, and at the end of it, the interviewer says "Thank you" and the person being interviewed says "Thank YOU." I guess I can see the logic of it if the interviewee is grateful to have been interviewed and wants to thank the interviewer, but it still seems that the proper response should be "You're welcome."

Picture it this way: "Thank you so much for being with us and sharing your thoughts." "No, I thank YOU." "No, we thank YOU for being so generous." "No, no, I thank you for giving me the opportunity to blah blah blah." "Thank you and best of luck in avoiding the massacres afflicting your country." "Thank YOU and all your listeners for paying attention to our tragedy." And so forth.

What is implied is that the interviewee is giving the interviewer an interview that the station wanted and should appreciate and that the interviewer should be apreciative of that.

Am I making your head spin? Sorry. Let's take another example.

You go into your local hardware store and buy a wrench or a wasp repellent or a ladder. You go to check out. The person at the cash register says, "Thank you." You say -- what? Please don't say "No problem." Please don't say "Thank YOU" (since you're giving the store your business). Say, "You're welcome" and maybe "Have a nice day." You don't have to thank the person who should be grateful for your business, but you can still be polite. And do smile.

We need to re-think what to say when someone says "Thank you." The British are, as always, right on: hey, they've been at this civilization stuff a lot longer than we have. They tend to say, with that accent we all wish we had, "Pleasure." Which I assume means "It was all my pleasure, so you don't need to thank me." It may not mean much more than "No problem", but it sounds so much better. (But be sure to say it without the final "r": practice it.)

The point is that "Thank you" means one thing, and our response means something else. If we don't think the service was worth a tip, maybe "No problem" is right, but if we're trying to be civil, and if we're satisfied with whoever waited on us, "You're welcome" always sounds right. "You're most welcome" is even better. If the person helping us was especially helpful, then we might even want to say, "Thank YOU."

It's a minor point of hospitality and manners, but the way we respond to "Thank you" or the more casual "Thanks" may help define who we are. I'm afraid that "You're welcome" is going the way of that flightless bird the dodo, and it's kind of a shame. Maybe the best we can do these days is to nod and smile and say, with the British, "pleasure". It gets us off the hook and leaves the wait-staff with a smile --and, if we're generous Americans, a decent tip.

I don't believe in ghosts.

I wish I could. Nothing would give me more pleasure than to know that one of my dear departed -- my mother or father or sister or two brothers -- had tried to make contact with me from The Great Beyond, The Other Side, or whatever we want to call where dead people do or not exist. Wouldn't it be great to hear from anyone -- ANYONE -- from that side? To know that the divide between living and being dead is actually permeable? That messages could be sent from that side to this side? From the dead to the living?

So far as I can tell, it's never happened. Now, I know that there are legions of people who will differ with me, who will claim to have contacted -- or been contacted by -- their beloved deceased. But -- come on now -- nobody ever produces credible evidence, right?

We're all familiar with the accounts of pots and pans rattling in the kitchen or specters appearing in the hallway, all film and whiteness, but how many people whose judgment you trust has ever told you even one story of actually encountering a ghost?

Think about it.

Believe me, I do wish I could make contact with another dimension, in this case that of the dead, but I just can't come up with a single believable account. I close my eyes and try to conjure someone I've known who's died, but nothing comes up but memories of that person alive. I may even say a mantra -- a word supposed to calm oneself into another mental state ("Om" being the most popular) -- but still no one emerges from the afterlife.

Popular literature and movies love the idea of ghosts, as I do. What could be better than having people who have died coming back to (1) avenge old wrongs (2) ignite old love affairs (3) tell secrets that were buried with them (4) enlighten us about what awaits us (5) assure us that we will emerge, from death, into some afterlife?

Which does make me think that the idea of ghosts has more to do with you and me and our reluctance to accept death than it does with any real evidence. We, the living, you and me, just can't accept the fact that when we die we're really dead forever. Gone. Like we never existed.

Hence ghosts.

But why are they, especially in movies and popular literature, so often evil and threatening? Why not ghosts of loved ones lost who come back to comfort us? To let us know that we're loved and that whatever lies beyond will be okay, maybe even fun? I mean, come on, can't you imagine heaven as a place where you're absolutely ecstatic? Where every dream comes true and every romantic relationship is resolved and dissolved into a perfect blending of souls?

I think ghosts are our own inventions, a result of our unwillingness to believe that life ends as it ends and that's that. We HAVE to believe that we survive our deaths and try to make contact with the living. Otherwise, we face the stark fact of our own individual extinction. Ouch!

But here's the silver lining: We're humans, and we don't know squat. We want to believe this, we fear that, we imagine this or that -- but we do not have a clue. We're like those proverbial survivors of some kind of shipwreck, stranded on an island, trying to survive. We look up at the stars and hope to see a pattern. We stare out over the ocean and make up a story about how we got here. We lie awake at night and conjure schemes to get us out of here and to safety. But, in the meantime, we're here on this island, just trying to get by day to day, and to be civil to each other. When one of us dies, we dispose of the body but hope that something of that person isn't lost, although we can't really come up with a good story that convinces us all. Still we endure.

And in that endurance is what it means to be human. We don't know why we are the only species on earth capable of imagining our own deaths. We don't know why we may be the only species capable of real and self-less love. But we do have a sense that we're different from all the other species on the planet -- maybe in the universe -- and so it's hard for us to believe that when we die we're really gone forever.

So we invent ghosts. That part of us that lives on after us. But so many questions result from that invention that it's hard to accept. Why this ghost and not that one? What effect to they have on us? Are they just chain-rattlers? Can they harm us? Can they guide us to ultimate truths? Can you put your fist through one? Embrace one? Who determines who is haunted by which ghost? And what are you supposed to do if you think you're haunted?

I wish I could believe in ghosts, and in the stories I've heard about them, but I just can't. They all reek of human desperation: the need not to be extinguished, once and for all. I understand that need, and I share it. I don't want to disappear either.

But why not take comfort in the fact that if we can imagine something -- an afterlife -- it may just be possible? Hey, stranger things have happened, right?

We may not be the masters of the universe, but we may well be the imaginers of it. If we think it, it will come!

Science and religion are two sides of the same coin.

The coin in question could be called "Everything That We Know." One side is "How?" and the other is "Why?"

Take the most basic question first: "How did the universe come into being?" And the next most logical question: "Why?"

The how is science, the why is religion.

Science is concerned with the way things work, whether it be the way the stars and their kin came into being or the way we, living beings, got started and evolved as we have.

Religion is concerned with why all that happened, with a special emphasis on us, as humans. In other words, why -- when all that whizbang stuff out in the galaxies was happening, on a scale we can't pretend to imagine -- did we, sentient (thinking) beings emerge from all that?

Astronomy, as we understand it, doesn't depend on human life: the universe just goes on and on, exploding and expanding and heating up and cooling down (black holes). It's got its own programming, which doesn't involve us.

So does geology, the study of the way our earth took shape. No humans are involved in the way the earth's crust shifts and creates sometimes spectacular sights: the Grand Canyon, for example. Or what's going on under the ocean, where huge slabs (techtonic plates) keep sliding around, causing earthquakes. This would have happened, and did happen, and continues to happen, without a human anywhere near.

Physics is the same: the laws of motion and gravity and all that exist with or without us.

It's only with the advent of biology, and chemistry, that humans come into the picture. Some combinations of molecules made us who we are and who we are always becoming: life starts.

This is where the how gets complicated.

And the why more difficult to explain.

Try to imagine a world, our world, spinning around a sun -- obeying the laws of physics -- doing what an orbiting planet should do. For many millions of years. Just spinning around, maybe forever.

But then something happens somewhere along the way that changes everything.

Some mysterious molecule emerges from wherever and divides and later mixes it up with some other molecule -- and we, living beings, are on our way!

Okay, that's miracle enough, don't you think?

But where did that first life-form come from? From the gases and fumes of the early universe or even from the molten rocks that account for much of our early earth? I guess so, but how?

That's where, so far as I'm concerned, the mystery starts.

Where did that first biological -- as opposed to astronomical/geological -- specimen come from?

Who or what conjured that magical mixture that started you and me: us?

If it doesn't boggle our mind, you're not paying atttention.

There is no logical/scientific process that I know that would account from something living coming from something not living.

There had to be a "spark" somewhere: something that ignited what had been molten stuff into life-form stuff. That's a very big leap. Something that brought inert substances together to make something not just alive but ready to propagate. That's a VERY big leap, and one that started it all: us.

Here's where science comes to a standstill: not a clue (but do correct me if I'm naive).

So here's where religion steps in: God created it. But that's not what the Bible says. According to the Bible, God created two humans, Adam and Eve. It's a great story, and the source of endless speculation and some good literature, but it doesn't seem to have much to do with the way things really started and have evolved since.

But that's not to rule out religion. If you get rid of the Adam/Eve version, why not believe that God -- however you imagine him/her/it -- created some kind of life-form that evolved into us?
I mean, think about it: if you were God and were tasked with creating a universe, including living beings, wouldn't you come up with a logical system to make it happen? You wouldn't start with the most evolved species -- us -- but would probably imagine some kind of order that started with the most primitive and went up from there, keeping whatever traits were beneficial, discarding those that weren't. Right?

Apparently, from all we can determine, that system is evolution: lower life forms evolving, over time, into higher life forms. It's the only reasonable alternative to the Adam and Eve myth.

Which is why I say that science and religion are two sides of the same coin. The coin is everything we know, and the two sides are the how and the why.

But problems do exist, for both sides.

Why, for instance, as the species evolved, would you keep all the others? If humans are the pinnacle of success, the ultimate goal of evolution, why do we still have mosquitos and roaches? Why wouldn't you -- as the Creator -- stamp out all those others, who serve no apparent purpose beyond bothering us?

In fact, why have any other animals or fish at all that didn't feed us, the winners of the evolutionary game? Why all those worms and sub-worms and why all those kinds of butterflies?
And why do they exist if they don't have souls that will eventually end up, if they're good, in heaven?

Many questions persist that we don't have answers for, so we shouldn't get too cocky. We may be the smartest, but we may not, in the end, be the last.

And the big one is this: Where did that first particle come from that started The Big Bang, that unfathomable explosion that sent infinite bits of it blowing out into the Great Nothing that we have to assume existed before? Did it? What was it made of? What existed before the Big Bang? There really is no such thing as nothing -- is there?

And the second (related) problem is this: Why would any of those explosive bits contain the DNA information to make life -- and, eventually, us?

Why indeed?

On the side of science, we have experiments that show how it all might have happened and how it all might have evolved, and might still be evolving. But, to be honest, they're all speculative, just guesses.

On the side of religion, we have those unanswerable questions about why we're here and what we're supposed to do and how we're supposed to behave. Again, speculative at best: guesses.

And, of course, THE BIG ONE: Is there some kind of afterlife for all of us life-forms?

Or only for us humans? Do dogs and cats and crocs and hippos and algae just die and go away forever? Is there some kind of heirarchy of existence that puts some of us above all others?
Do we get to take our pets to paradise? And, if so, what about all those strays?

Science can help to tell us how we came to be who and what we are; religion can ask why we're here in the first place and what we're supposed to do while we're here.

Two sides of the same coin.

And both are, at best, just guesses. One based on experiments that lead only so far as we're able to think, the other rooted in moral premises that we hope are true.

In the end, we humans are, so far as we can tell, a unique phenomenom in the universe, left to piece together not just clues (science) but also hopes (religion) in a never-ending search to find out who we are and why we're here and what we're supposed to be doing.

Oh, and I guess I forgot to mention the REALLY BIG ONE: Who or what is God? Where did he or she or it come from and get such authority to create that first particle and then assume the power to direct all our lives?

I, for one, find it all mind-boggling and, at the same time, love the search and don't rule out any approach, as long it makes sense. (Let me know if you figure it out, okay?)

Long live the mystery!

I don't need anyone's validation.

I can already feel the sting of responses in my ear, and they all boil down to the same words: "What a pompous ass!" In other words, how dare he say that no one's opinion of him matters?

Well, I have to say that I don't need anyone's validation, and no one's opinion of me matters.

Where do I get off with such a claim?

I'm pretty sure who I am. I know my strengths and weaknesses, and I recognize and acknowledge them. I've had my triumphs, but failures, too. I know myself better than anyone else. Do I accept who I am? Well, of course I do, or how else could I continue to live? Would I do things differently, given another chance? Well, duh. Of course I would.

It's actually very liberating to free yourself of others' opinions, but you do have to be sure that you know and understand yourself. If you need a friend to tell you when you're doing the right thing, or a boss to let you know when you're doing a good job, or a family member to clue you in on how you're perceived by the family -- you're not a candidate for exemption from validation.

You probably need to visit a paid consultant, a psychologist or at least a qualified therapist. You have issues to work out that don't just involve the boyfriend/girlfriend/husband/wife/job/family dynamic but you. Yes, you.

There is no good reason that a smart and sane individual (you) should have to rely on the judgment of another person to determine if he/she is on the right path and making the right decisions about his/her life. Good Lord, you've lived with yourself all these years! Nobody knows you better than you know yourself, right? Shouldn't you be the final arbiter of your life decisions? Don't you know, better than anyone else, when you've f*cked up and when you've gotten it right? Aren't you the best person to know how to make amends or turn it all around or stay the course?

If not, see above: the psychologist/psychiatrist/therapist.

We all come into this world with no instructions, and we all make mistakes: some small, some big, some life-changing. But we're also gifted with big brains that let us analyze those mistakes and make corrections. In the end, we are our own best guides as to how to modify our future behavior: to learn from our mistakes.

I think that when we start to rely on others to tell us how we're doing, we're giving up a lot of power, over ourselves, that we shouldn't be giving up. The boss tells you that you're not doing enough and you believe it, even if you've been working overtime for no extra pay. The spouse tells you that he/she needs more from you when you know very well that you're giving more to the relationship than he/she is. The mother/father tells you that you aren't doing this or that right in your life or with your kids when you know that you're doing all that is humanly possible and that they didn't do nearly as much for their own kids (you) as you're doing for yours.

If you wimp out and accept what you know isn't true, isn't a fair judgment of you, you're giving up power that you may never get back.

At some point, you have to stand up for yourself, reclaim the idea of yourself that you know is true: that you're a competent, intelligent, feeling person who is doing his or her best. Of course you have to believe that: If you're telling yourself lies about yourself, all bets are off.

Advice: Know yourself. Recognize who you are, your strengths and weaknesses, your good points and your bad. Own yourself. If improvements are needed, work on them. If valuable qualities are appreciated by others, appreciate them in yourself. You are you, and you are not defined by what others think of you.

When someone lights in on you for something you know is more about them than about you, don't bite. Be calm and nod and, if you want, stay friends with them. If it's too harsh, too personal, too hurtful, then cut them out of your life. Politely. Just don't call them anymore or take calls from them. Make excuses until they give up. They will.

What if you're a writer or an artist and you haven't sold anything, but your friends and family tell you you're great -- or not so great? What should you do with that information? I would say you should weigh it against what you think of yourself and your talent. If you feel good about what you're producing -- being sure you know what you're talking about -- then forge ahead, and opinions to the contrary be damned! But do be sure you know what you're talking about.

Not caring what others think of you only works if you know and accept yourself for who you are. That does not mean that you think you're perfect. It just means that the only opinion of you that counts is the one you have of yourself. Be sure you're honest about it.

Now don't you feel lighter and more liberated already? Ahhh! Is that a robin I hear? It must be nearly spring!

We tell ourselves the stories we need to hear.

It's human nature. There are some facts/truths that are just too hard to take. So we make up stories to tell ourselves.

"He was a good boy," the mom of the murderer of three people says, when she knows perfectly well that he was a dilenquent from the age of 12 and never listened to a word she said. "She was trying to turn her life around," the dad says of his twenty-something daughter who took up with crackheads and was in the car when they robbed a bank and got caught, maybe one of them shot to death. "I've turned my life over to Jesus," says the TV preacher who has just been nabbed having sex with a young boy or girl in his congregation. "I know that Jesus will understand and forgive my weakness."

Yeah, right.

We all do stupid stuff, even criminal stuff, and we all want to say that either it wasn't our fault or that we've learned from our mistakes and won't let it happen again. Too often, though, it's not because we're really contrite -- ready to change our ways -- but because we want to be spared the punishment that we always knew came with whatever wrongdoing we're guilty of. So we rehearse our day in court by telling ourselves stories that let us off the hook. And if we're really weak and devious, we start to believe them.

But these are just day-to-day fabrications, those intended to relieve us of judgment and then a sentence of some kind. It's sort of what we expect of each other: that, confonted with bad behavior, we're going to try to weasel out. (Some don't, of course, and confess and ask to be forgiven and truly do mean to do better in the future, but they're in the minority.)

We tell ourselves stories, about ourselves, when the truth is just too hard to take. It's human.

But the big story we tell ourselves concerns religion, meaning the belief that we will survive our deaths and go on to another -- supposedly eternal -- life after this one, and that it will be filled with all our dead relatives who will welcome us with open arms. (Apparently even those we never hoped to see again, but that's a detail that will have to be worked out in a later draft of that particular story.) And that we'll live forever with the angels in perfect bliss, never needing another beer or an Oreo (or ten) or even another steak slathered with butter.

The opposite version is that we will be cast down into hell and will burn forever with all the other damned souls who committed unforgivable offenses while on this earth.

Where did these stories -- that we tell ourselves -- come from? Do they make any sense?

My guess is that they originated from the very sound observation that justice is not always done in this life, on this earth. Good people are killed, often brutally, or die of diseases, way before their good work is done. Bad people -- even terrible people -- often live normal lifespans, never prosecuted or punished, finally dying in their sleep. Not fair!

But what to do about it?

Well, the logical -- okay, not logical but human -- thing to do is to make up a story in which the good are rewarded and the evil are punished, not in this life (since that's already done) but in another, a future, one. Heaven and hell.

Of course there is no empirical evidence of either: no one has come back from the dead to either verify or dispute one or the other. So we rely on what we call "faith". And what is faith? Just the notion that this or that outcome SHOULD happen, if not in this life then in another. Faith is another word for "hope", as in "I hope he gets his in the afterlife" or "I hope she is rewarded in the afterlife" or "I hope there IS an afterlife". Crossed fingers, right?

But I think it's significant that we have a need to tell ourselves stories that make us feel better. I don't think it's just wishful thinking. I think it says something about us as sentient creatures (meaning thinking beings) that we sense that something is not quite right about the way things are and that they should be/could be better, if not right now then someday, somewhere "over the rainbow". It's built into our hard drives -- our brains, our souls? -- that there is an order to all this mystery that should be observed and respected, and if it doesn't work out that way in our own lives, well then, by God -- literally -- it MUST be worked out that way somewhere else.

If it should be, it will be. That's the human motto.

Again, we have no evidence that there is justice and fairness anywhere in the universe or in all of eternity, but the very fact that we can not just imagine it but believe it with body and soul must mean that it DOES exist. Otherwise, how could we even have dreamed of it?

We tell ourselves stories because we're not satisfied with life as it presents itself to us. We just sense that there must be something more. Something better. Somewhere. Some time.

And I think we may be right.