I am sitting in a big comfy chair, with a nice view overlooking an expanse of landscape. The movers arrive and say they are going to take my chair but they say I will be fine because they are going to give me a smaller, less comfortable chair. This smaller, less comfortable chair is facing a wall now, with a nice picture, but no view. I complain, but it turns out that as long as I have a chair, nothing will be done. So I get up and leave in search of a bigger, more comfortable chair. The first one I find, though still somewhat smaller, looks comfortable, so I sit down. I find it more dirty and worn than what it appeared from a distance, and I find the view very squalid. So I get up and leave in search of a bigger, more comfortable chair. The next one I find has a nice view, but it is smaller and much less comfortable, and after sitting for a bit I find the hard, straight back and uncushioned seat with no arms to be problematically uncomfortable, and I am physically unable to continue sitting in it. So I get up and leave in search of a bigger, more comfortable chair. The next one I find is not a chair at all but a steampunkish robotic contraption that I am strapped into and I am required to constantly be on the move, which isn't so bad, but it is not comfortable and the only view I have are fields of drab, institutional gray. So I unstrap myself and leave in search of a bigger, more comfortable chair. The next one I find looks comfortable and appears a little bigger, but still not as big as where I began. I sit down. It is fairly comfortable, (though not as comfortable as where I began), and it is not dirty, or too worn; but it must have been a trick of the light because it is not as big as it first appeared, and the view is not nearly as expansive. But for the moment I decide not to whine or complain. I decide to accept the hand I've been dealt. I decide to lower my expectations. I decide to stay. And I decide I will come back in the morning. It has been a long day. I go home. When I arrive at home I find the movers have arrived and been busy while I have been out searching. I find that my bed is now smaller and less comfortable. I find that my pantry is now smaller and less well-stocked. I find that my television is now smaller and less vibrant. I find that the plumbing, and the furnace, and the electricity, and the kitchen appliances are all less efficient and more difficult to contend with. I find that friends and family have moved into other neighborhoods far away from the movers. And as they are carrying off bits and pieces the movers turn their heads and they tell me that I should be grateful that I once had a big comfy chair and a nice view. And the movers tell me that I will be fine because they are going to leave me with a smaller, less comfortable Life. And when I complain, it turns out that as long as they are only taking a little bit here and a little piece there, nothing will be done.