Thinking about Boston and how sometimes there’s really nothing to say. The world can be so terribly unjust, and I know that I’m guilty of trying to block many of the atrocities I’ve witnessed because they make me feel uncomfortable to think about. I can get indignant about gun control, and bigotry, and violence in pop culture, and I do, frequently. Alternatively, I can choose fear and panic about airplane rides, or tourist attractions. Sometimes I do that, too. I have no solutions. Maybe all I can do is live my life in a way that is meaningful to me, to surround myself with beauty and people I love, and to try to be present and grateful for what I have. To be perfectly honest, I fail at this approximately 95% of the time. But the thing is, I’m starting to suspect that the trying is what matters.