I can feel like I don’t know what the hell I’m doing, and refuse to look in mirrors with overhead lighting, and still go on the Women’s March and roar like a motherfucker. I can weep for that father who lost his daughter and pray for the friend I don’t know, and a few days later be scrolling and despairing that I am not taking beach selfies with my handsome husband. And I can marvel at a sunset and think how lucky I am, and wake up in the night with The Fear. Because life is complicated. And so are we.
