My family and I love going to Barnes and Noble whenever we stop at the Mall of America.

For the first several years of their lives, whenever we'd enter the doors of that prime Rotunda location, the kids and I would make a beeline to the train table situated all the way to the back.

It felt a natural path, a re-routing of the natural path I used to take whenever I'd enter the Borders bookstore that no longer exists by my own parent's house.

At Borders, I'd make a beeline for the tech books. I remember peeking at every single one, from A+ certification manuals to Web Pages That Suck (a book that I checked out from the library half a dozen times). To me, there might as well have been no other sections in the store.

As I get older, I'm finding myself questioning these paths that I take. The well-worn path worked great for an era of my life, but sometimes, it's fun to venture onto something new.

My kids are older now, but they still run into Barnes and Noble with the same gusto they've had for years. The difference is that they're old enough to run ahead of me.

This means I can take my time, which I use to slowly scan over all the books displayed in stacks on tables in the aisle.

A few weeks ago, I noticed a book called What My Mother and I Don't Talk About. It's a collection of essays from 15 different writers about their relationships with their mothers.

This style of book perfectly meshes with my preferred approach of reading: instead of one theme carried across 300 pages, each chapter is its own contained, complete thought. It really felt like I was burning through my Instapaper queue.

And of course, the stories told in these essays were tragic, beautiful, and every feeling in between.

It's hard not to read these stories and reflect on my relationship with my own mother. At a minimum, I am grateful that I don't have an especially painful or abusive relationship like several expressed. Maybe someday, I'll pen my own essay and share it with my mom before she passes.

But until then, I'll have to bask in the wisdom shared in this book.

Some of the highlights:

I really enjoyed Kiese Laymon's "While These Things / Feel American To Me", with this timely evaluation of life in this country:

The problem in this country is not that we fail to "get along" with people, parties, and politics with which we disagree. The problem is that we are horrific at justly loving the people, places, and politics we purport to love.

As someone grappling with letting go of my own traumas, this quote from Brandon Taylor's "All About My Mother" is a helpful observation:

It's strange, really, that to grasp that which has hurt you, you must trust it not to hurt you when you let it inhabit you.

And finally, two observations from the final essay in the book, Leslie Jamison's "I Met Fear On The Hill". First, on love:

This pride comes from the same internal place as the delusion I spent much of my young adulthood believing: that it is better to be the one desired more, rather than the one doing more desiring. As if love were a contest; as if desire were fixed, or absolute; as if either position could insulate you from being harmed or causing harm; as if being in control could insulate you from anything.

And finally, on the importance of telling your truth:

We get so used to the stories we tell about ourselves. This is why we sometimes need to find ourselves in the stories of others.

I highly recommend reading this book, and then if you're lucky enough, go give your mom a hug.

Bob Marley (supposedly) said that “some people are so poor, all they have is money.” What he meant was that there are people that mistake the pursuit of wealth for their purpose, and when they realize that they’ve conflated the two, they understand that they’ve missed the point of why life is so worthwhile in the first place.

This is why purpose must be discovered without the promise of incentives or monetary rewards. It can only come from conducting an honest audit of what makes you feel wonderment (i.e. childlike curiosity) or a sense of duty (i.e. parental responsibility), and then directing your attention to making the most of those endeavors.

The sense of self-worth that can be derived from purpose is free from money’s clutches, so keep this in mind whenever you feel discouraged by how much you have. Money is simply not a variable here, and the knowledge of that goes a long way.

I’ve spent the past six months of unemployment conducting the audit described above.

And I’ve learned that what brings me wonderment is learning how technology works¹, and my sense of duty is in teaching others how to use it.²

It’s not so much that I forgot those things about myself. What brings me such shame is the fact that I’ve suppressed the urge to pursue those activities in the name of making money.

Ultimately, love is the thing that matters most, but it’s often overlooked and disregarded as a cheesy emotion. In the minds of many, skepticism signals intelligence, whereas love signals naivete. After all, you garner respect by sounding the alarm on humanity’s problems, and not by pointing to love as the answer to them.

This is precisely why love is taken for granted. Even if love is felt between you and another person (be it a friend, partner, family member, whomever), it’s often left unarticulated because saying “I love you” means that you’re fine with seeming naive and aloof. And if this fear goes on long enough, you’ll feel that the best way to express your love will be through ways that act as surrogates for it.

Another thing I’ve learned about myself is that I am a naturally trusting person.

The majority of people I’ve encountered professionally appear to be the opposite. In particular, those playing the entrepreneur game seem especially skeptical or fearful of leaning into love.

Skepticism and fear drive those folks to make decisions about their business which ultimately lead to their demise.

I’ve sat in countless meetings with teams of executives who are frantically trying to come up with an idea for how to get more people to buy their thing.

At some point, an obvious answer emerges which involves building something that genuinely helps people.

But that obvious answer is almost universally looked at the same way you’d look at a plate of boogers because of financial concerns.

This general feeling is why I’ve struggled so hard to find a job. I’m tired of building software which only serves the purpose of making money.

Instead of jumping into another job where the culture is driven by money, I’m waiting until I come across a culture that is driven by love.³

Money’s a great tool, granting me a level of freedom that I may not have experienced had I pursued any other career.

But money is also the primary reason why I am dealing with severe anxiety and depression. It’s why my heart constantly feels like someone is squeezing it like a strongman squeezing an orange.

The only thing that causes the grip to be released? Doing things that lift the “purpose” and “love” levers. It’s when I trust others and spread as much love as possible when I feel the most alive.

Using the analogy in this article, I’ve spent the last 12 years of my life optimizing for the money-receptive levers. I’m gonna spend the next few in pursuit of lifting the money-negligent ones instead and see where that leads me.