When it's over, she does it again, and again, until the train pulls into Boston.

I scrambled to get off that train, and I knew exactly what I had to do.

I grabbed the wine bottle, and I grabbed my bag and my Starbucks cup, and I ran through the, the crazy train station, you know, through people and the crowd and all that.

And I ran to this trash can, and I, like, threw the big, the [laughs] the full wine bottle into this trash can, and it made this enormous noise.

And I, like, in my mind, screamed, like, "F you," at this thing, you know? Like, oh my God.

I can't believe that this is, this has so much power over me.

Um, and at that moment, I was like, I, I gotta go back home.

And very last, number nine.

It's the greening of the trees that really gets to me.

me.When all the shock of white and taffy, the world's baubles and trinkets leave the pavement strewn with the confetti of aftermath, the leaves come.

Patient, plotting, a green skin growing over whatever winter did to us, a return to the strange idea of continuous living despite the mess of us, the hurt, the empty.

"Fine then, I'll take it," the tree seems to say, a new slick leaf unfurling like a fist to an open palm.

"I'll take it all." [sighs] I know.

[laughs]

Yeah.

So, um, she was up.

Right.

And I did in moments feel like that was a failure.

Like, "God, I haven't re-learned anything," or, "I'm hopeless.

It's just gonna keep happening." But I know what's truer is one, because of all the prior work that I had done, I was able to actually metabolize more of the hurt and the pain, and therefore absorb more of the healing and the lessons.

So I think it's this strange inverse where it's almost like the more capacity we have built, the more, the deeper our sorrow and our pain.

It's like it carves more out of us.

But then in that, you know the Kahlil Gibran, the deeper our sorrow, the more joy we can contain? I think the deeper the sorrow, the more healing and the more joy and the more capacity we then have for the next thing.

[laughs]