I used to think that being isolated from the world at large would be terrible. I have come to that turning point when I most often crave less interaction, fewer headlines (and less blood boiling all around), not more.
I kinda had that pegged for age 65ish, not 33. Huh.
And yet…responding less, speaking out less, turning a blind eye and a deaf ear…these are not solutions. Not morally sound ones, anyway.
So I’ll keep getting angry when some idiot in Congress doesn’t want to keep potential terrorists from buying assault weapons, or suggests that we should never alter currency (because gods forbid we put a woman or POC on any of it, especially one people actually use instead of, like, the weird little $2 bill), or when some idiot who thinks he has any right to tout his bigoted thoughts as righteous truth (because he has a pulpit) says that he hopes the survivors of Orlando die too so they can all burn in a hell much of his own theology doesn’t even back up.
And I will respond. And then I’ll look at my children, my sweet children who love everybody in a way that is becoming less naive and more deliberate by the day, and I’ll reignite the embers of hope in my curmudgeon-y heart and keep my stubborn head up and my tired arms open for another day.