<?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>Discount-Rates on Rabid Curiosity</title><link>https://blog.thomas-bray.com/tags/discount-rates/</link><description>Recent content in Discount-Rates on Rabid Curiosity</description><generator>Hugo</generator><language>en-us</language><copyright>Thomas Bray</copyright><lastBuildDate>Thu, 23 Apr 2026 06:30:00 -0500</lastBuildDate><atom:link href="https://blog.thomas-bray.com/tags/discount-rates/index.xml" rel="self" type="application/rss+xml"/><item><title>Monetary Discount Rates and Depression</title><link>https://blog.thomas-bray.com/posts/monetary-discount-rates-and-depression/</link><pubDate>Thu, 23 Apr 2026 06:30:00 -0500</pubDate><guid>https://blog.thomas-bray.com/posts/monetary-discount-rates-and-depression/</guid><description>&lt;h2 id="the-performance-of-planning"&gt;The Performance of Planning&lt;/h2&gt;
&lt;p&gt;In my worst depressive episodes, making plans felt like church youth group theatre. I was performing.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;The audience was a small cast: authority figures who needed to believe I had my life together, and myself — the harshest critic, who knew exactly how hollow the performance was. I would map out courses each semester with the same enthusiasm I might bring to a role I did not want. To my professors and advisors, I appeared organized. To my peers, I seemed to have it figured out. The secret was that planning itself had become a coping mechanism, a way to generate the appearance of forward motion while standing perfectly still.&lt;/p&gt;</description></item></channel></rss>