Joy in the dark is a candle.

I don’t feel good about our country, and I don’t wish our country well. That’s a worrisome set of feelings considering that—like many of you, and many of the people I care about—I live inside this country. But it is how I feel.

Like I’ve said before, I’m asking more questions these days because I don’t have many answers. Or, more accurately, I’m suspicious of answers that feel easy. Especially my own. How can I trust what I know when I’m surprised in the worst way so often? Some days lately, I don’t trust the ground under my feet. I just don’t.

And also, look at this bowl on display at the Met Museum. It was made in ancient Egypt using clay pulled from the banks of the Nile. Someone posted a picture of it on BlueSky two days ago and it’s all I’ve been able to think about. Look at its little feet. They point inward so shyly. Look at how the bowl tips forward as if to say, here, I’ve brought something for you to eat. I’ve ordered two copies of the bowl from the Met’s online shop. I woke up thinking about the bowls on their way to me and smiled. I keep thinking about an artisan working their hands over clay pulled from the river bank, making little feet with little toes simply because… well, because it felt good. Because it made them smile. I keep thinking about how that artisan’s joyful work has reached me through time and space. I hope my joyful work travels like that one day.