I’m a great fan of Matt Haig’s books, but this one just doesn’t engage me as much as his others did. Maybe this book depicts him being self-aware and coping with his anxiety so well that there are no passages on anguish and torment that deliver stinging blows to my consciousness. In a previous book, I thought that he astutely used an everyday analogy that distinguishes anxiety from depression. There is none of these Eureka! moments in this one.

Still, I persevered in finishing the book. Matt Haig’s is a delightful mix of short and long sentences that washes over the reader like gentle waves. I admire his unflinching courage and candidness, and there is a certain light-heartedness that draws me in. These bouts of panic attacks and depression must have been paralyzing to him, but he is able to recount them with grace and detachedness. He wrote about looking at the sky and embracing fresh air as ways to master his self. Maybe my way of reminding myself to exert control over the aspects of life within my control is to sip his words.