I was generally a patient music teacher, but there was one thing that always tried my patience like nothing else.

It was when a six-year-old, on her very first piano lesson, would resist the basic technique I offered.

“No, I like to do it this way,” she would say, flexing her hand along the edge of the keys like a hungry starfish.

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In my work with adolescents, I like to remind them that they are active participants in creating the kind of culture they want to be part of.

"I'm only able to get up in front of the room and speak," I once told them, "because you're allowing me to. "If you all started jumping up and down and screaming, there wouldn't be much I could do about it."

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Many people go broke seeking to manifest the trappings of wealth.

They buy cars and homes they can just barely make the monthly payments for, and nobody knows how far they are stretching. They put clothes, decor, and nice vacations on the credit card to complete the picture.

Maybe someone else then looks at the results of this indebtedness and sees an aspirational example, and the cycle repeats.

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In sixth grade, I distinctly remember a classmate looking at my legs in disgust. "They're so hairy," he said. That's when I learned that the natural way that the hair grows on my body is unacceptable.

By seventh grade, I had corrected this egregious violation of American female beauty standards. A couple of girls asked me (why?), "Do you shave your legs?"

"Yes," I said.

"Does your mom know?" was the follow-up question (why?).

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Every once in awhile, social media is tempting.

It sounds great in theory. A place where I can meet new people, exchange ideas, find clients for my service, and learn new things? Sign me up!

And then I do sign up, and I don't like the way I feel. I don't like "consuming content." I don't like how the app is designed to keep me using it.

It doesn't feel like human connection. It feels like a dystopian wasteland.

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