The Evening I Almost Became Indifferent
It was the evening I almost became indifferent.
I was tired, the dangerous kind that visits when I should go to bed, but haven’t rallied myself to brush my teeth. I took up my phone, opened a website, and read some new and awful news.
My first thought: Why must we be so relentlessly cruel to each other? Then, my second thought: I don’t care, I don’t care, I don’t care.
And so fast, the shift from pain to indifference.
I was awake now, me and my gray matter in my little living room. The living room was still. I was still. But my brain was scrambling - scrambling away from pain, scrambling to protect against it. So it hurled indifference at it. Indifference which may mute pain, but cannot heal it.
Then, a third thought: How do I want to remember this moment? And I knew in my bones and the life-giving blood that circulated around them that I wanted to remember this as a moment when I chose to care.
I suppose it’s the dangerous choice, the one that leaves streaks and stains on the heart. But - and in my still living room, I stood up to brush my teeth - better an open and breaking heart than a closed and inert one.
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