The first rain of spring had arrived overnight in Atlanta and continued all throughout the next day. Rivers of yellow-tinted runoff snaked down curbsides and into storm drains, mercifully washing away the pollen, an allergenic assault that had kept me and so many unfortunate others in the city sneezing for weeks. I found myself doing what any reasonable person does on such a day: sitting around indoors, reflecting on the ubiquitous language of modern self-help culture.