One of my favorite things to do is to notice the self-destructive patterns in my own behavior and, you know, not do anything about them. My most recent epiphany: when I find something to worry about, it’s like a blemish on my face. I don’t just acknowledge it and let it just be there, slowly go away. I obsess over it. I pick and I burrow and I pick until there’s blood gushing down my face and a permanent scar. I need to learn to not touch my face, literally or figuratively.