I’m someone who chronically and compulsively rehearses tragedy, assuming that I then will be prepared when it comes. Or that it might never come because I’m ready for it. After all, I did my part: I sacrificed joy in the moment of feeling it to forestall future pain. Now I want what I’m owed: less hurt, less fear, less panic. But trading joy for less vulnerability is a deal with the devil. And the devil never pays up.
