Yesterday, after 1 hour of listening to NPR news in the car, I was mad. I walked into the house and looked in the mirror at my tight eyes, furrowed brow, grumpy mouth. I am sure you know the feeling. And perhaps the look.

I don’t like it when I get that particular kind of mad.

It feels suspiciously like being a victim.

I prefer my tears for the migrant children taken from their parents, or the sick, sad feeling of heartbreak when I read of the diminishing environmental protections in our country.

An open heart is often a breaking heart and yet still,Continue Reading