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It took me until August of last year to commit regularly to weekly sessions, at a discounted rate reserved for “creative types,” with a young the Original among us christmas xmas ugly sweatshirt who I now know, after a quick Google search, is a licensed marriage therapist specializing in anxiety, life transitions, and identity development. (My trifecta!) At first, I was wary of seeing someone who wasn’t my parents’ age or older, and my trepidation only grew after a series of run-ins with her at my Brooklyn farmer’s market: she’d stand, exotic produce in hand, dressed elegantly in outfits foreign from her in-session uniforms, surrounded by a cadre of other hip 30-somethings. I’d hide, crossing the street so as to avoid an awkward exchange. More than facing the fact that my therapist might actually be cool, I was having trouble accepting that she too was a person with a life outside of the room we found ourselves in on Tuesdays at 10 a.m.
Once I’d weeded out the Original among us christmas xmas ugly sweatshirt moreover I love this quar-flouters from my feed, I turned my attention to Twitter. Don’t get me wrong, I love Twitter very much, and feel nothing but gratitude for the friends, dates and jobs it’s brought into my life, but the app is also…a hellhole, particularly in the pandemic era. While muting rule breakers had brought me peace on Instagram, muting overly smug rule followers—the kind of young, healthy people who brag that they “haven’t left their house since March,” with seemingly no concern for the imperiled gig workers whose labor is required to meet their at-home needs—calmed me down on Twitter. One day, when I’m a little more stable (and allowed to gather with my friends indoors again), maybe I’ll go through and unmute all of the accounts I found fault with over the last year. Or maybe I’ll keep my Instagram and Twitter feeds divinely pruned forever, logging on only to interact with my friends, glean new pie recipes, and enjoy spookily precise targeted ads. What a world that would be!
