I’ve gotten weary of self-improvement literature. I’m not sure when it happened or how; or if it’s a temporary thing (as so many times it has been in my life) or not; but if I had to read one more list of “things you can do to improve your life” I think I’ll puke.
Once a self-improvement junkie, you might say I’ve moved closer to the dark side; where once I looked up to those who shouted at those who would listen how one’s life was deficient and how one might overcome those deficiencies, I now have apathy and scepticism as my bedfellows.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m still all for sugar, spice and everything nice. And despite what I said earlier, I still do love learning how I might be a better person. What I probably can’t stand is the sheer immense volumes of rubbish people write, especially when they don’t realise what they write is rubbish.
I think what’s missing in most of the self-improvement material I go through is that of humility — it sure would be nice as hell (forgive the expression) to have someone write about the self-doubt they faced, or the fact that they suspect all their hard work could be for naught (success leads to the exact same ends failure does, but let us work toward success anyway).
And nobody ever gives chance and randomness any credit any more. Sure, tell people to work hard and let them know that by doing so they’d be more likely to succeed. Lots of people work hard and succeed. But lots of people work hard and fail, too; only thing, because they fail we don’t get to hear about them. Who’s to say working hard makes much of a difference?