The world is on fire.
And I’m not fine.
A very long introduction
It’s a little before 11 here in the mountains of Tennessee. My kids and wife have been asleep for a while now. I can’t relax. Afghanistan and its people are suffering, COVID-19 is running rampant, we have a potential major hurricane brewing, the world has gone to shit again.
I’m not normally a pessimist, I don’t like this feeling. Normally, I like to write about all things Mac, or tech, or even the occasional story about asking my son to wear a mask to school, but nothing feels relevant now. I need to get this off my chest and out in the open.
While I was growing up, my parents got me a TV for Christmas one year. I was probably eight. My first vivid memory of the television in my room was accidentally turning on CNN and watching a piece about an ebola outbreak in Africa. I ran downstairs, crying, and asked my mom if this itchy, red spot on my leg could be ebola. It was the first time I can recall media influencing my mental health, but since then, it’s been a constant.
My parents were and are still great, they let me be exposed to things, learn things, experience things, and were always there to guide me and help me understand the world around me. But this memory while burned in my mind has shaped me in ways I’m just now beginning to…
