I was in a bookstore today and read some short few pages of this memoir of sorts on the late novelist David Foster Wallace. He was a genius it said (I’m still trying my best to digest novels and I saw how thick his “Infinite Jest” novel is! If it were a textbook I wouldn’t be that intimidated), he was successful and he was really someone. But he, even in all that he had, he was also someone who struggled with depression. I’m just trying to relate life in some manner here. The formula of being a genius who was successful does not easily translate to having a meaningful and happy life. The same narrative is true of Mother Teresa who struggled even in her self giving life to the outsiders in India. I’m sure it’s easy to say god makes everything meaningful and all that stuff. But that’s not life. Life is not a simple math problem where we solve it with the right formula. There are no formulas to happiness.

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