I hate that I usually write only when I am feeling incredibly moved.  I wish I could bring myself to write every day but most days the words just seem so… unimportant.

If I was moved to write when I am overjoyed, maybe I wouldn’t feel this way.  I am so damn happy most days that it’s hard for even me to believe.  I literally started crying last weekend (yes, I had more than a few beers by this point) because, despite my imperfections and life not always being easy, I am so incredibly content.  It’s easy to focus on what’s not there, which is probably what ultimately brought on the tears.  But it’s more that my life feels complete even when I think of what I’m without and that’s hard to reconcile.

Today, I write not because I’m happy.  I write because my heart hurts.

“”The mass shooting was the 355th in the U.S. this year — more than one per day.”

I read this statement on the Huffington Post tonight and broke down.  What is wrong with this world?  How did this become the norm?  Screw political parties and cultural differences and various belief systems.  What has happened to simply being decent human beings?

This is not the first time I’ve been moved to write about this.  Just over two years ago, I wrote this post.  I read it now, and it makes me cry even harder.

I said then that unimaginable heartbreak is practically the norm.  With more mass shootings than days in the year 2015, it isn’t practically the norm anymore… it is our new every day.

I wept then because I couldn’t imagine what would bring our entire society to a halt like that again. And because I didn’t believe anything could bring us collectively to our knees.  That’s even more true today than it was two years ago.  It only takes a quick scroll through my Facebook newsfeed to see that our world is soul-crushingly divided.

I’ll say it again…

What is wrong with this world?  How did this become the norm?  What has happened to simply being decent human beings?

What is it about tragedy that makes me want to do something?

I know that I am too small and insignificant to really make a difference.  I don’t have grandiose ideas that make me feel like my little role in the world can change things.

But I have to try.

Because if I don’t feel something, if I don’t make some attempt to be the change, who will?

I don’t believe more gun control will help.  I don’t believe it’s only corruption in our government or police departments.  I don’t believe all of the shooters are mentally ill people.

I believe this is happening because we have stopped looking at one another as human beings.  We’ve forgotten that – no matter where someone comes from or how different they are or what they believe – they have as much right to be alive on this earth as we do.  More than that, they have the right to thrive.  Because I truly believe it is only through the collective success of those around us that we ourselves can succeed.  If we all lift one another up, treat each other as people that matter, maybe then we can do something to change this horrible conclusion toward which we are hurtling right now.

When I wrote that last post, I was writing even more infrequently than I am now.  At that time I wrote “…I’ve posted twice in many, many months and the last post was about mayonnaise shaming…” There’s something about the absurd and the outright heartbreaking that makes me need to share.

So I thank you for reading.  I know I cannot single-handedly change the world.  My posts about how much I love Christmas, or why I love pumpkin spice lattes, or what books I’ve read lately, can’t change anything more than this post about how my heart is broken in two.

But I have to do something.

And if this small, insignificant blog can make even one person pause and think about how they can be the difference maker… and if that person can then inspire someone to do the same… and so on and so on…

Maybe then…

Maybe then we can wake up in the morning and not brace ourselves, waiting for the news of another tragedy.

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