know I’m being horrible—snippy and unyielding. Sometimes I can identify facts in my mind, but I can’t feel them. What I mean is, I know that I am not malnourished and I don’t have aggressive cancer. I sleep in a safe, warm bed at night, and I can eat ice-cream cones whenever I want. Even right this minute, I smell the salty ocean and wet sand in the breeze, which ruffles my hair. Cognitively, I recognize my good fortune. But I don’t feel lucky.
