The danger of opting for the storyline over a more complex and present truth is this: When we make up stories, we create an alternate reality. Rather than looking at our situation straight in the eye, we look at it from behind a protective lens.

Why don't we go out of our way, disrupt our daily routines, and demonstrate compassion more frequently? What is it that makes it so difficult?

My call to you, please think about encouraging mindfulness or simple techniques of awareness in your town, in your schools, in your community.

So give us a brief time to cry, to grieve. Something really bad happened. Let us work through our emotions. Then after that, spit in the eye of fate and the madmen, be proud of our cities and our nationality, and gain revenge in normality.

I feel unsatisfied. I don't feel soothed. Perhaps the problem is that I don't want to be soothed? Perhaps the idea that I might feel better tomorrow or the next day frightens me because I suspect that being soothed may simply lay the groundwork for another "shocking" attack.

A hometown tragedy is at once a painfully personal and strangely depersonalizing experience. The images on television aren't just places, they're my places. That's my street with the barricades. That's my library in the background.