Done. Something.

You may have heard about the recent mass shooting in Highland Park, IL. That was a place I have been: I have run several races down that same street, visited clients and patients in the surrounding neighborhoods, stopped for coffee and snacks in some of those shops. On a day where I was already feeling the erosion of the meaning of “independence,” it hit in the soft places. Too soft for anger, at the moment. And I cobbled together today’s draft.

Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when publishedAs a preteen -- I knew everything in this world. I made a poster with the permanent markers.(ignoring every rule of graphic design,letters crowding at the poster edgein a hurry to exit this jumbled place)I hung it on my door and thought I'd done something. I know nothing in this world. Watching the aftermath of another mass shootingin the safest part of the safest town (erase the definition of "safety" from the dictionaryeven as I try to make it mean something in my treatment room)the day after one person got up from my table, saying"You made me a better person" walks out knowing their body is not a mistake or a reproach or an apology-- their body deserves care.I close my treatment room door and think I've done something.