When my father died, I stopped worrying, and began not taking myself quite so seriously. I started getting out more and sweating the small stuff less.
I turned off negative comments from people who don't really matter, and instead focused on the positive (or at least constructively critical) ones of those who do.
Or such has been my aspiration. On some days, during certain moments, amid various circumstances, I feel I'm grasping it. But on others -- half? three-fourths? a third of the time? -- I end up holding a handful of air...and holding onto it for dear life.
I'm a writer who loves to run and who is basically optimistic, albeit a bit hard on myself.
My son (that lovable kid here) may have spent too much of his summer vacation neither reading books not cleaning out his car, but he does have a great sense of humor. In other words, he usually thinks I'm funny.