“After work, I went home and was so tired I took the elevator. As the doors hissed shut, I didn’t push the button to go to the next floor. I found myself kicking the wall over and over, muttering profanities under my breath—very uncharacteristic of me. I’m more of an emotional hoarder, swallowing everything I might be feeling. Eventually, I thought, “Well, this is crazy.” I pushed the button.”
—Roxane Gay has a post-Boston meditation in The Rumpus which I found myself re-reading this morning while feeling generally useless and wishing I’d gone to medical school or into some sort of profession that isn’t an active detriment to crisis management.