one stop along the way

I can't not say anything.

I wish I could share the written equivalent of a warm cup of soup, a hug in the form of a sentence.

I do not have those words.

I feel like my brain is suddenly made of microplastics. 

It is fascinating (and alarming) to realize what I consider a threat, others call salvation. 

But I keep coming back to the idea that the one thing we must all share is the longing for a better world. Do our definitions of better match? How can guns have more rights than girls?

Andy left the boys a note before he headed to an early meeting yesterday, more an outstretched hand than a pointing finger. A reminder that the only thing we can control is our reaction, and our direction forward.

Today is one stop along the way.

Hank asked if America will still be a thing to be president of when he's older.

We tell the boys that nothing is beyond the reach of conversation.

But where do we even start on the topic, our country set to be "stewarded by a malevolent sociopath who despises empathy and shuns the law." 

Our kids deserve so much more than the mess they've inherited. 

I know that lamentations will not move me forward. I know how to turn around a day gone wrong, by baking or singing or touching grass, by making something or helping someone, by reading books and moving my body.

Hank did the math, and three hundred sixty five times four feels like a lot of days.

Pavlovitz