Nothing happened. My life is fine. Good even. I'm happy and content.
But I woke up and read an update on the Nigerian school girls that were stolen from their school. Stolen like pieces of property. It was 5 months ago.
And when it happened, there was this beautiful collective outrage. There was this moment where the world cried out, a loud and firm, "No. No. NO! We will not stand this. We will not be quiet."
And I was proud.
That was 5 months ago.
And those girls are exactly where we left them. Property. Stolen. When they should be learning and playing. When they should be dreaming about all the things they're going to do. When they should be allowed to still believe that they belong to themselves.
And then Patty Griffin's Up to the Mountain came on Spotify in my office.
And I cried. Because I have a cozy office and a sense of security and so much control of my own life.
And I felt broken. Because these girls don't get these things.
And I felt tired. Because I believed for a moment that a hashtag could mean something.
And I got mad. Because things like this make me not believe and, oh, I want to.
5 months. And a heavy heart. And a futile blog post.
Just because I need it.