I’ve been thinking about this tweet since I first saw it. When I examine my current and past relationships, it really does come down to this: all the good things are about the ability to communicate. All the bad things come down to the inability to bridge the gaps between us.

This is how I used to do most of my writing: out in public, in the midst of things. I’d forgotten how much I missed it. ​ We imagine offices and classrooms and weddings, the casual tenderness with which we’ll interact. I think Peterson is right. It will take some time to move past what we’ve just gone through. Move past we will. I already am, giddy to be with others. And yet: I’d argue that some elements of our grief should stick with us.

each kindness \ reaching toward another

Anticipatory grief is that feeling we get about what the future holds when we’re uncertain. ​ If you feel the worst image taking shape, make yourself think of the best image. We all get a little sick and the world continues. Not everyone I love dies. Maybe no one does because we’re all taking the right steps. Neither scenario should be ignored but neither should dominate either. ​ We can — we should — stop at the first feeling. I feel sad. Let me go for five minutes to feel sad. Your work is to feel your sadness and fear and anger whether or not someone else is feeling something. ​ Emotions need motion.

Their greenness is a kind of grief.

The window to write this, I know, has passed. The subject has been exhausted, what happened has happened and we are here. The day after, I walked through a North Carolina airport in a determined daze—crying and deliberately looking any stranger who would let me, right in the eyes. I was manic and furious and the task felt aggressive. It felt like my right. More people than you would think met my sobbing gaze. Each time, I would look away first.