There are moments when the universe gently whispers, “See? Healing is possible.” And then there are moments when the universe hands you a fish from the Hudson River and says, “Trust me.” I do not trust it.

Apparently, for the first time in 50 years, yes, half a century, a full arc of questionable decisions and industrial side-eyes, officials are telling us that some fish from the Hudson River are now safe to eat thanks to lower levels of Polychlorinated biphenyls. PCBs, for those of us who didn’t major in “Things That Sound Like They Could End Civilization,” are toxic chemicals that once made the Hudson less “river” and more “science experiment with vibes.” And now, suddenly, we’re good? We’re sautéing?

Let me be clear. You could not pay me to eat that fish. Not even a cute little lemon wedge and a sprig of optimism would change my mind. Granted, I come with a built-in excuse. My fish allergy is both real and deeply committed to my survival. But even if I didn’t, I would still be over here clutching my land-based proteins like they’re the last lifeboat off the Titanic. Because somewhere between “toxic for decades” and “bon appétit,” my brain inserts a healthy, irreverent pause.

This is not to say I don’t believe in healing. I do. Rivers recover. People recover. Even our most polluted internal narratives can, over time, filter themselves into something clearer. But healing is not the same as amnesia. Just because something can be okay again doesn’t mean we immediately throw a dinner party in its honor.

Psychologically speaking, this is the tension we all live in. There is the gap between caution and hope. Between “never again” and “maybe, someday.” The Hudson, in its murky wisdom, is asking us to consider trust again. And I, in my deeply scientific, highly nuanced professional opinion, am responding “That’s beautiful. You first.”

So here’s to the fish that are healthier, allegedly, and minding their business. Here’s to the slow, often invisible work of repair. And here’s to all of us, standing on the shoreline of change, squinting just a little, hopeful. But still packing snacks from home.