I've been thinking lately about managing anger.
No doubt about it: I'm angry.
When I hear that our president referred to countries I love with language that I would not allow from even the wildest street kid in my care.
When I see men I once respected twist themselves in knots defending the utterly indefensible.
When I wade through the mounting tide of #MeToo, with each story triggering memories of more, my own and those of girls and women dear to me crumbling, withdrawing, used and misused, diminished, dimmed, shut down.
I promise you, I'm angry.
I set this blog down months ago, but sometimes I'm tempted to take it up again.
Today, I went looking back to see what I'd said about Martin Luther King, Jr.
And anger.
And here it is. A post I wrote in May, 2017.
I've updated it slightly. But the ideas hold true.
No doubt about it: I'm angry.
When I hear that our president referred to countries I love with language that I would not allow from even the wildest street kid in my care.
When I see men I once respected twist themselves in knots defending the utterly indefensible.
When I wade through the mounting tide of #MeToo, with each story triggering memories of more, my own and those of girls and women dear to me crumbling, withdrawing, used and misused, diminished, dimmed, shut down.
I promise you, I'm angry.
I set this blog down months ago, but sometimes I'm tempted to take it up again.
Today, I went looking back to see what I'd said about Martin Luther King, Jr.
And anger.
And here it is. A post I wrote in May, 2017.
I've updated it slightly. But the ideas hold true.
