BLM.
Where do I start? Why must I start? My heart has been so heavy. It started with Ferguson, sure. But now,? It’s a constant discomfort. Every moment I’m awake, I am mad. Sad. Deep breathing. (Keep it together, JT.) I want to really say all that’s on my heart and mind, but I want to say it calmly. Honestly, but calmly. (The older I get, the bolder I get. The louder I get when something matters to me.) I don’t want my rage to increase my volume to the point that I’m screaming into the void. Honestly, though, it won’t particularly matter. It’s not my volume or tone so much as the heart of my audience and their willingness to be receptive. Which adds another level of frustration entirely. To have so much to say, so much to realize, so much to feel, and so much to share… For it to not even make a difference to the ones who already have their minds made up, their ears plugged, for those to be people I know and love, is hard. This time has been tricky. Eye-opening, yes? Tricky? Very. Why tri