The rest of my story is only moderately eventful. That same voice got me on a train Wednesday to Rochester NY where my father lives. It seemed incredibly important to me to get out of Manhattan. The ride along the Hudson and then Mohawk rivers is always lovely, made especially poignant that day as the late summer light painted the pastoral landscape in a late afternoon glow. On Saturday, that same inner voice got me in a rental car for a drive to Pittsburgh (a lovely drive) for nearly five hours of quiet contemplation. From there, I was able to get a flight back to SFO. In another moment of wonder, I read that day that a train from Chicago to San Fran had derailed in Utah the night before. I had tried to get a train all the way to San Fran but could not.

Ultimately there is no explanation for hate. There is no explanation for what happened this week in New York. In the days and months to come, there will be anger, retribution, hate, and fear unleashed by our government on people you and I don’t know, some of whom may deserve it, some of whom may not. History may look back and