the world is bigger than me

I took my dog for a walk this afternoon, in my rainy and sleepy, small upstate NY town… and I couldn’t help but think about how lucky I am. In that moment, trudging over freshly fallen leaves in a light, misty drizzle, with my sweet 10 year old chocolate lab pulling me along, the most I had to worry about was maybe getting too wet or dreading the errands and work-from-home shit I have to do the rest of the day. Not to downplay the actual worries in my life that are always lurking, like my constant mental health issues dealing with an anxiety disorder, or my long-term boyfriend and I going through a dark time and recently deciding to work on the love and happiness in our life instead of calling it quits. But even still, I felt lucky in that moment. Lucky because I live.. scratch that, was born in a place where I have the freedom to wander around and contemplate those worries, without any fear. I was born and live in a place where the only real conflict that exists is on social media between uneducated adults who just want to be angry at whoever disagrees with them. I’m lucky that I’ve never had to hear bombs going off in the distance, or possibly right near me, wondering if someone I love was caught in that blast. Waking up to see collapsed buildings, people weeping, dust and smoke everywhere. Watching news coverage of a loved one captured or killed or… fuck, is there anything worse?

I could spend all day.. all week.. watching the news, educating myself online, scrolling through social media videos, lurking on Snap map in the Middle East.. nothing will help bring back the people who lost their lives, will help the families cope, will help end the destruction.