I could always be accused of my reach exceeding my grasp. What I’m slowly (re)learning is that this becomes untenable. That “grasp” is the real deal. When too many ideas crowd the picture, I start daydreaming about a road trip in the desert Southwest. Gridlock ensues and nothing gets done in my usual efficient way; I wake up overwhelmed and unable to enjoy the simple wonders of life. At 60, with not nearly as much time left to live as has already been lived, do I get to tamp down the freaky push for a worthy legacy,  to reflect on what has been accomplished?

I’d like not to know a bunch of stuff that I’ve learned, in particular the intractable evil that besets the women in Sudan. Undoubtedly they are strong and resilient – I have seen this – but how much loss and trauma do they have to endure before the neighbors of the global “community” intercede on their behalf. I wonder if it’s cruel to offer them hope in small ways via the Women’s Center when the big picture continues to plunge deeper into darkness. All the billions of words written on the catastrophic mess in their homeland, all of the advocacy purportedly on their behalf have not substantively changed what has been a living hell for more than nine years.

When do you know you’ve done enough – or at least all you can do? If it were me in those circumstances, what would I want from any allies that happened to show up?

A lot more.

Who can rest on the luck of birthplace, surrounded by an excess of comforts when so many have so little?