My son is screaming in the other room, and I’m thinking about silence.

Not the literal type of silence, although I could use a little bit of that right now. I’m thinking about the stories we choose to tell and the ones that remain unwritten.

I’m thinking about the silences – intentional and unintentional – that shape what our history becomes. What gets remembered and what is forgotten.

I was planning to share a nice story of a boy and a horse, but that moment of success is being pre-empted. Today there is crying and screaming, and it doesn’t feel genuine to write about that good experience while ignoring this definitely not-good one.

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