That person.

There’s always that person.

The person who’s willing to tell you

That you don’t get it.

That you don’t know what you’re talking about.

That you make it sound too easy.

That you haven’t had REAL adversity in your life.

That you’re obviously misinformed and should start reading up.

That you and all the things you say are exactly the problem.

That your story, your post, or your whatever, is painfully naïve and utterly unrealistic.

That you should be deeply ashamed and instead ‘do something about it!’

That you’re privileged and too stupid to realize it.

That the world would be a better place if you’d just shut the fuck up.

That the world would be an even BETTER place if you move to a cave and stay there forever.

That your ideas are one-sided.

That you should wake up.

That you’re an ignorant asshole.

That you only know half of the story (the least important half, of course).

That you’re a disgrace to humanity.

That you shouldn’t have an opinion about X or Y if you haven’t at least got a degree in X or Y.

Sometimes I feel sorry for that person.

Sometimes I’d like them to develop a crippling disease.

And sometimes, sporadically, I AM that person.

Kinda good to realize.

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(Photo by @karsten116, for Unsplash)