As president of the New York Society of Seasonal Allergy Sufferers, my breath is something that I only became nominally aware of in adulthood. I blissfully grew up near the beach in California, so my lungs were always kissed by clean ocean air, and it was only when I moved to New York in 2008 and was subjected to the crush of pollen-spewing male trees that I became a mucus goblin, every spring, without fail.