complicated.

Last night, I wrote:

I’m sitting in the dining room, where I’ve been sitting all day, staring at a computer screen, working. It was overcast and rainy this morning, but the sky is clear now. The cool air is still blowing, though, and so the window is only open a crack. I’m sitting in the big armchair now, in the corner of the room next to a window that the sun blasts through at this time of day. Richard says that his father used to call this the Florida window. 

I’ve been trying to write about religion lately (although not here). I’ve been thinking about it all the time, turning any of dozens of topics over in my head, raking through memories, thoughts, fears, etc. I wish I could approach it objectively, more logic than emotion, but I can’t. So I just do my best, make sense of what I can, think, write. I’m listening to NPR, listening to the coverage of today’s Supreme Court decision, listening to coverage of the funeral in Charleston. I’m listening to representatives of socially conservative organizations expressing disappointment and fear of the consequences of legal same-sex marriage. I remember what it’s like to believe that God says being gay is a sin. I remember what it’s like to believe that. It twists my stomach into a knot. And I’m listening to President Obama’s eulogy at the funeral in Charleston. I’m crying at the song, Amazing Grace. It's making me feel hopeful and safe. All this on a Friday night, on a sandbar, in a sunny armchair.

Life is complicated, people are complicated, I am complicated. It can’t be any other way.