u/UpperShopping39

Lately I’ve been thinking that there are two ways to approach life: you either build it or consume it. Obviously, both coexist within everyone; it’s not a black-and-white distinction. I simply think that, depending on the person or the era, one tends to dominate the other.
I also think that, throughout history, different generations have leaned more towards one or the other. It could be that what builder generations create ends up being consumed by consumer generations, and that this process repeats itself in cycles.
I associate building with activities that unfold over time and whose rewards come later: saving money, starting a family, investing in a business, pursuing higher education, developing a skill… By contrast, I associate consuming with experiences, leisure, travel, entertainment, sporadic relationships…
Both are necessary and complementary. This isn’t about defending one and rejecting the other. I just think they produce different feelings. It’s like scrolling through Instagram: it’s entertaining, but not satisfying. Solving a Sudoku, on the other hand, might not be as entertaining, but it is satisfying.
My impression is that we are currently living in a more consumer-oriented generation, even though that consumption is often disguised as building: self-improvement turned into constant purchasing, identity shaped through products and experiences, or accumulating information without ever turning it into something of your own.
And I think there’s a trap in that. The message seems to be that the goal is to squeeze everything out of the present, but that often means mortgaging the future. Ironically, by failing to build, the present itself ends up becoming somewhat uncomfortable. The way we treat the future determines how we live the present. And vice versa. You enjoy many things, yet you feel like you’re not moving forward, that there’s no stability or long-term project holding everything together.
Maybe that’s why, when we consume much more than we build, a sense of stagnation starts to appear. And that emptiness can lead us to consume even more, creating a cycle that’s hard to break.
I don’t think this alone explains phenomena such as the rise in mental health problems or declining birth rates, but I do wonder whether it might be one more piece of the puzzle.

Lately I’ve been thinking that there are two ways to approach life: you either build it or consume it. Obviously, both coexist within everyone; it’s not a black-and-white distinction. I simply think that, depending on the person or the era, one tends to dominate the other.
I also think that, throughout history, different generations have leaned more towards one or the other. It could be that what builder generations create ends up being consumed by consumer generations, and that this process repeats itself in cycles.
I associate building with activities that unfold over time and whose rewards come later: saving money, starting a family, investing in a business, pursuing higher education, developing a skill… By contrast, I associate consuming with experiences, leisure, travel, entertainment, sporadic relationships…
Both are necessary and complementary. This isn’t about defending one and rejecting the other. I just think they produce different feelings. It’s like scrolling through Instagram: it’s entertaining, but not satisfying. Solving a Sudoku, on the other hand, might not be as entertaining, but it is satisfying.
My impression is that we are currently living in a more consumer-oriented generation, even though that consumption is often disguised as building: self-improvement turned into constant purchasing, identity shaped through products and experiences, or accumulating information without ever turning it into something of your own.
And I think there’s a trap in that. The message seems to be that the goal is to squeeze everything out of the present, but that often means mortgaging the future. Ironically, by failing to build, the present itself ends up becoming somewhat uncomfortable. The way we treat the future determines how we live the present. And vice versa. You enjoy many things, yet you feel like you’re not moving forward, that there’s no stability or long-term project holding everything together.
Maybe that’s why, when we consume much more than we build, a sense of stagnation starts to appear. And that emptiness can lead us to consume even more, creating a cycle that’s hard to break.
I don’t think this alone explains phenomena such as the rise in mental health problems or declining birth rates, but I do wonder whether it might be one more piece of the puzzle.

I get the feeling that nowadays people treat the meaning of words as if it were a matter of opinion. It’s no longer enough for a word to have a definition; now anyone can say, “Well, to me it means something else.”
No. Words mean what they mean. If you’re trying to express a different idea, then you’re probably looking for a different word.
On top of that, we’ve filled everyday language with psychological jargon and euphemisms that often seem designed to soften reality or avoid responsibility.
“I’m not emotionally available.” → I don’t want a relationship with you.
“I didn’t have the tools.” → I didn’t know how, or I didn’t want to do better.
“I have anxiety.” → I’m nervous. (When it’s used to describe ordinary nervousness rather than an anxiety disorder.)
“I have avoidant attachment.” → I avoid commitment and responsability
“I’m prioritizing myself.” → I’m doing what’s best for me.
I’m not saying these terms don’t exist. I’m saying they’re increasingly used to describe situations that are much simpler than what the words actually mean.
And the more complicated the language becomes, the smarter the speaker is supposed to sound. When, in reality, it’s often the opposite. Clear thinking is usually expressed with clear words.
Does anyone else feel like we’ve started using language to hide reality instead of describing it? Can you think of any terms that are being replaced by modern buzzwords?

The more I watch interviews with people involved in extreme sports(Extreme mountaineering, BASE jumping, wingsuit flying…), the more I feel that many of them share the same personality traits. The pattern keeps repeating itself. They often come across as deeply arrogant. They talk as if they belong to some kind of elite, as if they’re somehow above fear, above death, and, in many cases, above everyone else. They watch friends die over the years, yet instead of reaching the obvious conclusion that the sport itself is incredibly unforgiving, they almost always explain it the same way: “He made a mistake,” “She made the wrong decision,” “I would never have done that.” Every time they survive, it reinforces the belief that they’re different, smarter, more capable.

I also see a huge amount of egocentrism. Everything revolves around their experience, their climb, their jump, their story. Even the death of a teammate often ends up becoming another chapter in the story of how they made it out alive.
What I find especially striking is mountaineering. Everyone seems to be “brothers” until someone can no longer continue. Then they’re left behind. I know the usual explanation: tactical decisions, impossible rescues, the death zone. Sometimes that’s undoubtedly true. But I still can’t understand what kind of mindset accepts a sport where leaving a friend behind is considered part of the game. To me, that says something about the culture surrounding it. When your personal goal becomes more important than the person next to you, something has gone seriously wrong.
I don’t see much camaraderie. I see a silent competition. They all claim they’re only competing with themselves, yet they’re constantly measuring who climbed the hardest route, who flew the closest to the wall, who opened a new line, who pushed the limit further than anyone else. The only difference is that, in this competition, the loser doesn’t finish second. The loser dies.

Then come the interviews and the heroic narrative. They’re often presented almost as heroes. I don’t see heroism in voluntarily risking your life for a goal that benefits no one but yourself. Meanwhile, you leave behind devastated families, friends who have to bury you, rescue teams that risk themselves trying to recover you, and sometimes complete strangers who end up finding your body in a public place.
To me, that world seems to reward extreme narcissism. The more dangerous the achievement, the more attention it receives. The closer you get to death, the more interviews, sponsorships and admiration follow. Recklessness starts being confused with courage, and danger with merit.
My impression is that many of them have an overwhelming need to feel exceptional. And when someone has to keep gambling with their own life just to feel like they’re somebody, maybe the real problem isn’t the mountain.
Maybe they’re trying to fill something that never stays filled, when you need to g*mble with your life over and over just to feel alive, maybe you’re not running from death. Maybe you’re running from yourself.

..(Extreme mountaineering, BASE jumping, wingsuit flying…), the more I feel that many of them share the same personality traits. The pattern keeps repeating itself. They often come across as deeply arrogant. They talk as if they belong to some kind of elite, as if they’re somehow above fear, above death, and, in many cases, above everyone else. They watch friends die over the years, yet instead of reaching the obvious conclusion that the sport itself is incredibly unforgiving, they almost always explain it the same way: “He made a mistake,” “She made the wrong decision,” “I would never have done that.” Every time they survive, it reinforces the belief that they’re different, smarter, more capable.

I also see a huge amount of egocentrism. Everything revolves around their experience, their climb, their jump, their story. Even the death of a teammate often ends up becoming another chapter in the story of how they made it out alive.
What I find especially striking is mountaineering. Everyone seems to be “brothers” until someone can no longer continue. Then they’re left behind. I know the usual explanation: tactical decisions, impossible rescues, the death zone. Sometimes that’s undoubtedly true. But I still can’t understand what kind of mindset accepts a sport where leaving a friend behind is considered part of the game. To me, that says something about the culture surrounding it. When your personal goal becomes more important than the person next to you, something has gone seriously wrong.
I don’t see much camaraderie. I see a silent competition. They all claim they’re only competing with themselves, yet they’re constantly measuring who climbed the hardest route, who flew the closest to the wall, who opened a new line, who pushed the limit further than anyone else. The only difference is that, in this competition, the loser doesn’t finish second. The loser dies.

Then come the interviews and the heroic narrative. They’re often presented almost as heroes. I don’t see heroism in voluntarily risking your life for a goal that benefits no one but yourself. Meanwhile, you leave behind devastated families, friends who have to bury you, rescue teams that risk themselves trying to recover you, and sometimes complete strangers who end up finding your body in a public place.
To me, that world seems to reward extreme narcissism. The more dangerous the achievement, the more attention it receives. The closer you get to death, the more interviews, sponsorships and admiration follow. Recklessness starts being confused with courage, and danger with merit.
My impression is that many of them have an overwhelming need to feel exceptional. And when someone has to keep gambling with their own life just to feel like they’re somebody, maybe the real problem isn’t the mountain.
Maybe they’re trying to fill something that never stays filled, when you need to g*mble with your life over and over just to feel alive, maybe you’re not running from death. Maybe you’re running from yourself.

I’ve been dating my boyfriend for several months, and I’m starting to question the relationship.
He always wants to spend time with me. He says he misses me, wants to be together constantly, and seems very emotionally attached.
But I don’t feel genuinely seen.
I ended up in the ER recently and he barely checked in afterwards. My grandfather became seriously ill and I had to return to my hometown to be with my family. Again, very little curiosity about how I was doing.
I’m an artist. My apartment is full of sketchbooks, paintings and books. He’s never asked about any of them.
I own my own place and have a car. He doesn’t drive, so I end up driving us everywhere. When he comes over, he often leaves my apartment messy. If I tell him not to smoke weed in my apartment, he’ll keep asking anyway, and if I finally say no, he gets upset because he feels like I’m “telling him what to do.”
He rarely asks follow-up questions about my life, forgets things I’ve told him, and most conversations somehow end up back on him.
The strange part is that he clearly wants me in his life. He just doesn’t seem very interested in discovering who I actually am.
Has anyone experienced this? Is this emotional dependence? Self-centeredness? Or is this just a personality mismatch?