A little over two years ago, my life began to implode. I found myself confronting issues that I had been trying to suppress for years. It wasn't drug addiction or alcoholism, nor was it depression or abuse. I was struggling with the complications of living with a neuromuscular disorder.
Noir fiction is returning. The uniquely American art form reached its paranoid zenith in the 1940s and '50s, taking its bleak existentialist cue from such masters as Dashiell Hammett and Raymond Chandler, among others.
Disconnection from the spirit is also at the root of Liberal America's weakness. This points to a cure for our hopelessness that also can strengthen us to fight and win this battle, however challenging it may be.
What's important is that we all learn to use our senses to be more sensitive to those people in our lives who may need help but don't have the capacity to ask for it. Look for signs such as changes in behavior. Listen to what he or she is saying.
My Twitter feed has been raging with information and disinformation today, but underneath the diatribes I have been struck by a sense of despair and disbelief that the world can unravel this fast, and anger at our sense of impotence.
Twenty-four years later, we still think of her. We still ask questions. There was no note. We have coffee, talk of her, and cry. We tell our children that sometimes life is hard, but it is -- in equal measure, at least -- splendid and captivating. We miss her. We love her.
I met a sweet soul for the first time this morning. In the end, I have no idea how our conversation might help him, but it prompted this reflection, for his sake, and for the sake of many, many others.
Ed came here from Romania in his mid-50s as a penniless political refugee fleeing the brutal communist regime. All they would let him take out of the country was $100, one suitcase and the clothes on his back.
Today I will find peace in chaos. Love within fear. Beauty in the ordinary. Forgiveness in expectations. Gratitude for the struggles. Generosity in the face of lack. Plenty in not enough. Joy in sorrow. Simplicity in the complex. Movement within inertia.
Surprisingly, The Top Five Regrets of the Dying is not a depressing book. It illuminates ways in which even during the final stage of life, there can be redemption and acceptance through the expression and openhearted exchange of honesty and gratitude.
To the countless Americans who are unemployed, I have this to say to you. Do not lose hope. You are our hope. In you lies the promise of our future. And as long as your gifts and talents are not being employed for the betterment of our civil society then the promise of our future is lost.
Haitians have a famous saying about shame and anger; my mother says it all the time when talking about someone who hides behind a wall of anger because they are ashamed of their own behavior but won't or don't know how to admit it. Li fe la wont sevi kole.
Technology is breeding the addiction to distraction into the human species, just as you would breed long ears into a dog breed. It is breeding out the capacity to be with ourselves or anyone else, and worst of all, to be here, the stuff that true well-being is made of.
A few weeks ago, I wrote a post about what I thought was the worst possible emotion. But it occurred to me that as long as I'm thinking about emotions, I should also nominate what I believe to be the best possible emotion.