I grew up in a family of seasoned hippies from the northern midwest.
My parents raised myself and others to be seriously tolerant of others, whether they are from odd parts of the world or possessing beliefs that seem alien compared to our own, then they told myself and others that I can never assume for sure what someone’s story is before I get to assume them.
What if a guy just lost all of his enjoyed a singles in a scary accident and that’s why he’s wailing on the side of the street? Or the guy angrily leaving comments on your social media who might be off their medication or not have the resources to get any in the first locale. Going through life while avoiding disaster is a row of fortune 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 husband to a stroke after years of his dementia, while also losing two 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 myself and others about tolerance, however they also taught myself and others to keep an open mind. I was convinced that cannabis concentrates wouldn’t be the best option for myself and others 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 two grains of rice and assume adequately medicated in about more than four hours or less. It’s certainly efficient.