You have pastrami and May weather and walk-off homers against the Phillies, good friends and sex with someone you care about and scotch and sweet, sweet sleeping. But then there is the rest of the world, the large and loud segment of experience that gnaws on the good parts. It's a luxury to be able to sweat such small stuff, of course, a great luxury. But you are probably familiar with it, and you know what it does. You maybe have a workplace. You maybe have a personal life, or are active on a popular social media platform. You maybe take mass transit to and from work. So we see all this, all the smallness and blinkered outward-projected anxiety and general loud wrongness out there, and even when we're able to ignore it or tune it out, it weighs; it's just outside where we are, sucking like crazy.
Or maybe not that, but it lingers: a fart in a subway car, with all in the blast zone suddenly sullen and angry and grossed out at this unbidden sniff of some other person's issues. Everyone looking around for a culprit, as if there were some sort of recourse for beefy rush-hour flatulence, and as if its author could even help it.
My advice, and there's no real reason why you should take my advice except that I've been on some farted-up subway cars before, is to remember how good things actually are, and then to get to work. Tuck in your kids-size Doug Martin jersey, take a deep breath, and go get it. Don't stop 'til you get enough.