This endless month came to a close yesterday, but not before wreaking its jokey, “we are not through with you” wrath. On Friday night I got worst case scenario news; on Sunday one of my closest people drove their car through a fitness center (they are, and everyone else is okay, okay). Last night on our Quitted podcast weekly call, I told the team “if my house was on fire right this minute, I’d probably still sit here and do this meeting and be like, oh, that background noise is just an inferno; I’m fine, we’re fine, first item on the agenda is social media assets.” What I mean by all this is, I’ve either meditated myself into complete non-reaction (nope/maybe), or there’s just a part of me—the twitchy, “sky is falling” center—that gave up, completely. Whatever it is, it doesn’t feel unhealthy. It’s not apathy, resignation, disassociation. It's more like actually living that parable where no matter what happens, the correct response is always ‘oh, that’s interesting.’ As in, I don’t k…
© 2025 Holly Whitaker
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