I’m at a beach bonfire talking to a girl I’m intimidated by. Her clear skin and quirky interests and seemingly solid sense of career direction makes me feel bumpy and small and behind.

I do believe that my grandfather was cursed, but not by some God-like figure or cloaked heretic. His curse was his hubris, his ego, his unrelenting belief that the cause of his suffering was someone else’s doing.

He was allergic to examining his own fractures, and as a result he lived hollow and died lonely. I don’t want to be like that.