Man only likes to count his troubles; he doesn’t calculate his happiness.

“Man only likes to count his troubles; he doesn’t calculate his happiness.” — Fyodor Dostoevsky

The day ends… And we remember what went wrong, what we didn't get, what things caused us trouble.

What was quietly fine… We don't even remember that.

Then slowly, Even though life isn't like that, It starts to feel heavy to us.

Because reality isn't heavy… What we choose to count is heavy.

We don’t remember the day as it was… we remember what hurt.

What went wrong stays loud, what worked stays invisible.

And slowly, life feels heavier than it really is.

Not because it is… but because of what we choose to count.