By Joshua Fields Millburn

The smallest things tend to offend me. Just last week, someone I respect replied to my heartfelt text with a single word: sure. Ouch. My imagination took it from there.

But my imagination is a terrible mind reader…

Cut me off in traffic?
​You’re inconsiderate.

Interrupted me mid-sentence?
​You don’t respect me.

Disagreed with my politics?
​You must be a self-righteous prick.

Thankfully, I’ve learned not to trust my own indignation.

Truth be told, I wasn’t offended by you.
I was offended by the story I invented about you.

You don’t have the power to provoke me
unless I hand you the keys to my heart.

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