Dear Ethicist: For many years I suffered from a reverse Midas touch. Anything I came near turned to shit. Now the clouds have parted. I’m a walking De Beers. All I have to do is sachet into a room. Everyone wants to talk to me--ironically like flies to shit. Editors fight over my crumpled balls of paper. The problem is that for many years I was a member of a support group where people got solace from licking their wounds. Now I’m a pariah. No one wants to hear me sharing about my latest success. Am I going to end up alone and solitary having attained these heights?
Perplexed, Cincinnati, OH
Dear Perplexed: Your problems may be difficult but they’re not insoluble. Since I take it you're now flush with cash, why don’t you participate in one of those therapies like psychoanalysis which go on forever and provide a replacement for the group of sufferers who have heretofore been watching your back.
Read "What is Happiness?" by Francis Levy, HuffPost
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