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