Wow. How the darkness can really take over sometimes. It’s remarkable. I find it a bit ironic that I launch a project about light, a project designed to uplift others, to uplift myself, and the darkness comes barreling in. Within hours of my last post about finding the will to laugh after loss, a friend from high school dies a tragic unexpected death. 44. We are 44. When this woman died, I nearly took down my post. Self-doubt overcame me.

More darkness came in. I killed a deer (not on purpose) stranding myself and my family in the Wyoming wilderness, limping my wounded car to Laramie. When we finally arrived home a day, and very grateful for our brother in law, later, our dog was horribly sick. So my depression decides it’s a wonderful time to hitch a ride and invade me when I’m down. Days are spent staring out the window wondering why.

Then one of my most loved funny men kills himself in a fit of depression. I am from Boulder, Colorado. I grew up with Mork and Mindy. I grew up with Robin Williams making me laugh. And Robin, he felt the same way I did. He honored loss, honored grieving, but believed in the healing of laughter. You will find story after story of Robin making people laugh at what others may think “inappropriate” times. But to Robin, and to me, there is rarely an inappropriate time to feel happy and inspire laughter. The two are not mutually exclusive: honoring loss and embracing joy.

As a result, I took some time off from writing here. Partially because I had no energy and partially because of all the darkness occurring around me. I guarantee that will happen from time to time, because that is what happens. But eventually, I start to feel better, like I always do.

I think any woman with other people depending on her in order to survive can relate to the fact that we will continue to be the rock even when we struggle to find footing ourselves. That is just life and that is what helps me to not fall too deeply into the darkness to get out.

I am a firm believer in positive energy yielding the same. I have always been that way. I have been called Simple, I have been called Utoptian, I have been called Ridiculous by many a people who do not understand the concept. But I stand firm with it. And while I have faced many struggles in my life that I would wish on no one, I have also lived a more sheltered life than many. I have always had food at the table and people who love me. Because of my belief of putting my energy in positive places, and because I have a degree in journalism and know the manipulative nature of it (at times, by certain people), I do not watch broadcast news and have not for years. I do listen to NPR and read a variety of newspapers, but draw the line at the visual manipulation employed by mainstream broadcast news.

However, over the past two weeks, I have seen a flood of horrible imagery, partially from Facebook posts and partially from news articles, not to mention the audible horrors I’ve heard on radio stories. Between the Middle East, Ferguson and a random fb video showing the bullying of a high school teen, I broke. I am bewildered. I am speechless. I. Am. Horrified. By the videos themselves, society’s knee-jerk responses and journalistic insensitivity and sensationalism.

For as long as I can remember, I know that I was put here to help people. To stop violence and hate. I have put my body inbetween fists flying and screamed “Stop!” numerous times. My body just does it. My legs run before my mind catches up. It is me and I’ve come to understand and accept that.

At some point in time in my youth, I realized my purpose and I remember having a conversation with my mother, telling her I wanted to change the world. To make it a better place free of violence and racism. My mom, who raised me and my big sister on her own, has always been a source of love. But at that moment, I remember she told me that one person couldn’t do that, couldn’t change the world. While she taught me love, I think she had also been beaten down by the world like many of us are, to believe that one person can’t enact such big change, especially a little tomboy from Boulder. But I was 9 or so, so I didn’t feel that way. I then asked her defiantly if she had a crystal ball. She said no. And I told her that she because she didn’t, she didn’t truly know, and that I would. I’m pretty sure she smiled then. Possibly at my naivite, or possibly because I was a brat. Regardless, she is my champion to this day.

I’m still going to keep writing here. It is, to me, my little point of light. But I have to do something bigger. I have to find a way to stop violence. To stop hate. To stop all of those things that are eating away at a productive, loving society. I’ve been asking for guidance. And I have some ideas. I hope if you’re reading this, you’ll stick with me. The project I’m envisioning is collaborative. It’s about inspiration. It’s about stories. It’s about peace. And it’s all about reaching out to do your part in making this the world you want to live in, that you feel safe living in.

As I write this, I’m sitting in my back yard, on my rickety, paint-peelin’ picnic table. I’m gazing up at the Colorado blue sky splattered with brushstrokes of pink wispy clouds (if you don’t live here, or haven’t seen it before, you gotta) and I’m grateful, so grateful to hear the cacaphony of the passing geese, endure the ridiculous conversations of the kindof obnoxious kids jumping on the tramp in the adjacent yard and experience the peace and safety I feel. I want everyone to feel this way. And I want everyone to help me make it that way. I’m pretty sure we can do it.

Thanks for reading. And thanks for helping, because I will be asking for your help.

Peace.