I grew up in a family of seasoned hippies from the northern midwest. My parents raised me to be seriously tolerant of others, whether they are from peculiar parts of the world or possessing beliefs that seem alien compared to our ownâ€¦ They told me that I can never suppose for sure what someone’s story is before I get to suppose them. What if a guy just lost all of his appreciated 1s in a frightening accident and that’s why he’s wailing on the side of the street? Or the person angrily leaving comments on your social media who might be off their medication or not have the resources to get any in the first site. Going through life while avoiding disaster is a row of luck that few ever get the privilege to experience. I knew a guy who lived to the age of 95 and never once had an issue with his mental health. He was a decorated veteran with no combat trauma, a county school superintendent, and a historian. But he lost his partner to a stroke after years of her dementia, while also losing 2 of his sons to suicide and another to a similar stroke within just the past few years. I’m proud of what our family taught me about tolerance, however they also taught me to keep an open mind. I was convinced that cannabis concentrates wouldn’t be the best choice for me because of our history with cannabis flower products. But after trying live resin for the first time, I have become psychologically addicted to the amazing array of cannabis concentrates that are available. I can take a small dab the size of 2 grains of rice and guess satisfactoryly medicated in about many minutes or less. It’s absolutely efficient.