This month, I don’t know what to write.
It’s not like there’s nothing on my mind. In fact, it’s the complete opposite. There’s so much on my mind that it’s getting all jumbled up and incoherent. I don’t know if I should write something uplifting that could come across as insincere or tone-deaf; or if I should write something doom and gloom, which would bum everyone out.
I don’t know what to write because maybe my experience isn’t unique from anyone else’s.
I don’t know what to write because I don’t have any great ideas about how to help or what to do.
I don’t know what to write because I have it good. I don’t have to go out on the front lines every day. I don’t have to work full-time in retail stores like my dad, my mom, my brother. I’m not essential.
I don’t know what to write because anything I chose wouldn’t compare to what’s going on right outside my door.
I don’t wonder when this is going to end. Because if I did that, I wouldn’t be living. So I sit here, in a rare quiet moment…not working, not teaching, not mothering. I sit here on my couch while my babies nap, writing about nothing…and everything.
