This very moment is the intersection of art, faith, and identity.

(CW: suicidal thoughts)

I was devastated by yesterday’s news. I stayed up into the small hours of the morning reading election results. I then dragged myself to work on three hours of sleep, putting on as brave a face as I could (messaging friends with “are you okay?” when I wasn’t at all). Then, after someone replied to one of my Facebook posts with “Oh, now you found your voice!” — as if I hadn’t been telling everyone I know that this result would be a disaster for our country — I lost my resolve.

I was moments away from stepping into traffic, in front of a box truck, before I came to my senses.

You do really stupid shit when you’re tired (like I was), or drunk, or in grief. I know better. I know my life is worth living. It has inherent worth, if the first UU principle is taken at face value. Even when the future looks as awful as it can right now, it’s still worth living.

Life contains suffering. That’s the first Noble Truth of Buddhism. But life isn’t just suffering, and our suffering, like everything else, doesn’t last forever. Our job is to ease and prevent suffering as much as possible, in others as well in ourselves. We all have our different talents for making that happen.

Me? I write. That’s what I’m good at, writing. Fiction, blog posts, witticisms like Hawkeye’s arrows. Far from the best (some readers would put that less delicately), but still good at it.

So, to my (now former) friend who asked where my voice went: it’s still here. I’m still writing.