<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8" standalone="yes"?><rss version="2.0" xmlns:atom="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" xmlns:content="http://purl.org/rss/1.0/modules/content/"><channel><title>Essays on Logic of Life</title><link>https://logicsoflife.com/categories/essays/</link><description>Recent content in Essays on Logic of Life</description><generator>Hugo -- 0.146.0</generator><language>en-us</language><lastBuildDate>Wed, 15 Apr 2026 00:00:00 +0000</lastBuildDate><atom:link href="https://logicsoflife.com/categories/essays/index.xml" rel="self" type="application/rss+xml"/><item><title>It Used to Be Simple</title><link>https://logicsoflife.com/posts/it-used-to-be-simple/</link><pubDate>Wed, 15 Apr 2026 00:00:00 +0000</pubDate><guid>https://logicsoflife.com/posts/it-used-to-be-simple/</guid><description>&lt;p>There’s a small moment from when I was about five that has stayed with me.&lt;/p>
&lt;p>We were neighborhood kids, playing one of those loose, imaginative games that didn’t need rules. That day, someone turned his balcony into a “ship,” and suddenly everyone wanted in.&lt;/p>
&lt;p>My sister was there too. This wasn’t one of those “big sister looking out for little sister” situations. We had our own circles, our own games. Sometimes they overlapped, like that day. Most of the kids on that balcony were her friends, not mine.&lt;/p></description></item></channel></rss>