I am not a huge fan of rom coms. But there was one rom com I just had to see the minute I heard about it. I was drawn to its title. Its title was irresistible. Its title conveyed the central problem in the Book of Numbers. Its title conveyed one of the central challenges in our own lives. The title of this rom com is Jane Austen Wrecked My Life.

Jane Austen wrecked my life. Let’s dwell on that. Some other person wrecked my life. Some external person or event or disappointment wrecked my life. If my life is not what I want it to be, there is somebody or something else to blame.

How often are we tempted to say our own version of Jane Austen wrecked my life? We’ve all heard, or said, different versions of this.

My parents wrecked my life. I still remember the time I came home with an examination where I got a 98. And they said: what happened to the other two points? I still remember the time I came home with my report card. All As and one A-minus. And they said: A-minus?

Or: My parents wrecked my life. I was always a creative type. I dreamed of becoming a singer. A writer. An actor. But my parents threw cold water on my dreams: “How are you going to make ends meet,” they would say. “Do you have any idea how many unemployed singers, writers and actors there are,” they would say. They pressured me to become an accountant. I work at Price Waterhouse as an auditor. I am not living my dream.

Parents are frequently the target of Jane Austen wrecked my life energy, but there are plenty of other targets.

My boss who had it in for me wrecked my life.

My co-worker who betrayed me wrecked my life.

My business partner who cheated me wrecked my life.

My teacher who gave me an unfair grade wrecked my life.

My doctor who failed to diagnose and treat my condition properly wrecked my life.

In each case, the narrative could well be accurate. The feelings could well be valid. Parents did say: where are the other two points? The boss did have it in for you. Your business partner did cheat you. The doctor did not treat your medical condition properly. But here’s the problem: Even if the claim that Jane Austen wrecked my life has some basis, does this energy serve us? Does this energy help us? Or does this energy consign us to a doom loop of reliving past frustration?