I grew up in a family of old hippies from the northern midwest.
My parents raised me to be extremely tolerant of others, whether they are from different parts of the world or possessing beliefs that seem alien compared to my own.
They told me that I can never know for sure what someone’s story is before I get to know them. What if a man just lost all of his loved ones in a horrifying 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 place. Going through life while avoiding disaster is a row of luck that few ever get the privilege to experience. I knew a man 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 wife to a stroke after years of her 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 my family taught me about tolerance, but 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 my 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 feel sufficiently medicated in about five minutes or less. It’s really efficient.