But here's the thing: I realized that my own sanity is more important than work. I don't want to miss out on time with my family, especially since my mom still lives with us and we take care of her. So, I decided to take a step back and not work as hard anymore. Easy…right?
And I feel like we’ve missed the chance to learn some profound truth, that we’ve turned away from some universal doorway that led to a better place. Everybody wants to get back to “normal,” and I can’t shake the feeling that “normal” just ain’t that great.
It seems unlikely that anyone would thrive in the midst of a worldwide pandemic, and yet here I sit, and here I grow, a lot like that pesky weed that keeps cropping up in the crack in the sidewalk. In the most odd environment, life is present.
The gentle rocking of the universe and the lullaby that sings, “I am here. You are safe.”
Death is an incontrovertible part of life.
Why do we struggle so? What is it about this final veil--the veil which separates forever the living from the dead--that causes us to beat our flying fists against it so firmly, so resolute with no result? If death is a part of life, why does it hurt so much?
There is so much material online about the PULSE nightclub shooting on June 12, 2016. I can’t possibly do a better job of honoring the victims—both living and dead—of the massacre. But I can share with you the weight of it, the heft, the residual dread and anxiety, that this anniversary stirs up for someone who wasn’t there and didn’t know anyone who was hurt or killed.
But I know a lot of people who do. And I watched with them as the day unfolded and the horror became known and real.
