I write this from a café - perhaps predictable, but exactly where I want to be right now.
It's been hard to take care recently. Or I should instead say, it's been difficult to communicate the pain of tragedy that is far from me. That the helplessness of distance and inefficient circumstance is only uplifted by the fury with which the Descendants are fighting. The Descendants I refer to are my almost-peers, the generation just after mine, that will change society for the better. History bends towards the unexpected - but by whose metric? If the decider in the assessment of history is someone farther from the Descendants than myself, and I do believe it is, then game on.
+ I have not forgotten my time as a teacher; "On Back to School Night, I look out at the gazes of the parents in front of me as we silently make a pact. "I am giving you the most precious part of me with the knowledge that you will shield my child's body with your own when the need arises." They say this with their eyes. I agree to this responsibility and make a silent unbreakable oath before them. As I am telling them about the 20,000 years of global art history that I will be teaching their child, I am also agreeing to die."
+ Apparently, shadow work is something I do nearly daily.
Make today a good one, reader.