Lifeboats. Summer. Bridges. Helpers.

The rapid succession of a toddler-drunk-on-power messes is overwhelming.

I’m exhausted by the sheer number of (what seem to me) reprehensible acts.

My country is sickening me.

federal agents shooting at (and killing) civilians
actions against immigrants, federal workers, the environment, reproductive rights
invading a sovereign nation and abducting its leader
pardoning people who committed reprehensible acts
terrorizing Brown-skinned people
terrorizing transfolk
Black Lives Matter, but don’t

All of these things.

Hate is spreading.

And hope is faint.

These are gut-punch times.

✧✧✧

Then we all have our personal shit shows.

My heart is breaking as I watch a loved one disappear.

Alzheimer’s is slowly (and quickly) taking her cogency and her memories and unraveling her.

(Fuck.)

✧✧✧

I’m looking for comfort.

Always.
And, in all ways.

The following four quotes might comfort.

(After each quote I present will be my thinking about it)

✧✧✧

Voltaire’s lifeboat voluntary band

Comptez que le monde est un grand naufrage, et que la devise des hommes est, sauve qui peut.

Life is a shipwreck.
Save yourself if you can.
Do not forget to sing in the lifeboats.

✧✧✧

Honestly?
Singing in lifeboats feels too upbeat today.

✧✧✧

“I have the honor of sitting with the Rabbi,” Martin says as I find my seat at the reception to celebrate his granddaughter’s Bat Mitzvah. At times like this, I’m not just Brian. I’m Rabbi Brian. A stand-in for God, Judaism, and all religious persons they’ve met in the past. ✧ ✧ ✧ “We pass the Torah from generation to

See Me.

July 9, 2026

Shoes.Shoes.Shoes. The long glass wall separates me from a display of more than 100,000 shoes at Auschwitz-Birkenau. Men’s shoes and women’s shoes and children’s shoes and baby shoes. Everyday shoes and work shoes and formal shoes and boots and sandals and slippers and high-heeled shoes and orthopedic shoes. Woven sandals and wooden-soled shoes and leather shoes and cloth shoes. Shoes

Last Tuesday / This Tuesday

June 30, 2026

Last Tuesday. I’m sitting in an Adirondack chair, my feet resting on a well-weathered log here in Sisters, Oregon. It’s my family’s annual week-long vacation at the same beautiful house we’ve rented for the past four summers. My favorite spot. Just above the little creek. Most of my worries are 153 miles away. ✧✧✧ This Tuesday. I’m sitting in my