I’ve been thinking about radicalism lately. Radical honesty, radical empathy–those kinds of things. Lately the pit in my stomach–the kind that makes it hard to eat and sleep, a dull ache that is probably unhealthy for you but goes away eventually–has been healing over, like a scab that covers the surface while what’s under it continues to regenerate. The scab is the everyday stuff–watching TV with my friends, minor distractions–and the regeneration is this: the writing, talking to friends, figuring out what I’m learning. 

The world conspires to help you out, when you need it to. As I return to a place of comfort and healing and open honesty with people I find that I’m learning things–good things about how to function in the world.

I’ve been thinking about the co-creator of the disposable diaper and how guilty he feels. My friends interviewed him, and he felt so guilty about contributing to landfills–disposable diapers make up 2 percent of landfill waste–that started the Compression Institute to encourage the compression of businesses to offset the risks of environmental catastrophe.

I’ve been also thinking about Jesus.

People who have done the worst stuff are the most empathetic, or feel the most guilt and the pressure of offsetting their actions with doing something good. I would rather be that type of person than the kind that does nothing bad, nothing good in life and just remains a neutral figure. Not that either is better than the other–I just prefer the experience of growth and pain and emotional turmoil than stasis. Some people just develop very good morals early on. I am not one of those people. I might be a moth and not a butterfly, but motherfucker I can still fly.

There are no rules, but there is cause and effect.