I’ve always thought that pistachios are the snack of choice for anxious people. The fidgeting with a shell, the often hard-won victory of extracting the slightly salt-tinged nut.
Before bursting into tears in public, I feel like an important step is to put your sunglasses on.
I walk down the street. My pace slows; I am mismatched behind a couple with a stroller. They are leisure on a Sunday afternoon and I am a brisk whirlwind of anxiety.
And you just don’t stop.