It’s the whole world. It’s every terrible thing that happens in the universe that I feel like I need to speak out about but then don’t because fear stops me. Then I fear that inaction. I fear that my silence is equal to agreement with terrible things. I fear when I do speak out that I’ve done so inelegantly, or wrongly, or that I’ve made things worse. That it’s not my place to speak or that it’s not my place to be silent. I read and read and read and know every detail of the terrible thing, waiting to find that one detail that will make me know for certain what to say or how to act. But it
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