:: I can laugh about it now, but I have never forgotten how it felt to have sent an email with the intent to make the world a better place, to have received praise in private, and then to have been humiliated in public.
:: In 24 hours, the truth was before us, a truth that had probably been there all along. Sometimes things just die.
:: Today, when this fear of death hit me, I realized that I’ve been carrying these thoughts around in the back of my mind for so long that I can’t remember when they started. Perhaps two years of pandemic, of living under a shroud of death, has created this pall.
:: The best jobs give their workers agency, and those workers tend to be happy They get to be creative, and come up with neat ideas, and execute those ideas. Whereas jobs where workers do not have agency tend to have workers who burn out.
:: We don’t get many opportunities to seize pure joy. And this was the purest.
:: “Can I shut the door?” asks the pencil. “Sure,” I say. I don’t want anyone to see me here in this place, so shutting the door is a good idea. Then I repeat what I said in the lobby. “I don’t know what I’m doing here. Really. This is a waste of time.”
:: There are, indeed, expected ways of communicating with editors of public venues that you can’t possibly know unless someone tells you—or you learn the hard way by making mistakes. You would probably prefer to avoid making those mistakes.
:: This used to be an essay about grief, and anxiety disorder, and how we react when the whirl of events overwhelms us. Now it is also an essay about death and loss.
:: I’m so tired of television shows and movies that can’t imagine women outside of basic tropes. That can’t imagine female friendships. That can’t imagine female experiences—including female pain—outside of a few certain experiences. There is so much life that women experience but we rarely see it on screen because women aren’t in writer’s rooms or behind the camera.