The song you swore you’d skip is track three, and your thumb knows the way. The photo you meant to delete is still in Favourites, between a parking receipt and a screenshot of a lasagne recipe.
Small failures, and each comes with a bit of shame, like being caught picking a scab.
Philosophers have been caught at the same thing for about two and a half thousand years. They call it the paradox of tragedy: we seek out pain, and we leave lighter.
The lightness is what I can’t get past. Nobody plays a sad song to feel less sad, and it works anyway. The old thinkers argued for centuries over what we’re actually after. This week’s toolkit for the dates that ambush us is here:
