Day 9: the world we live in

I'm having a hard time being productive this morning.

My laptop is charged, my to-do list long, and my day slipping away.

But I just can't do it. Not right now.

I braved the pouring rain to venture to my favorite cafe for a warm drink - craving caffeine and cinnamon to fuel my creativity - but as I sit here with my computer open and ready, I can't work. All I can do is stare out the window at the stormy skies and feel hopeless. Sad. Discouraged. Confused.

It feels wrong to sit here enjoying an $8 latte, frivolously blogging about my privileged journey to "find myself," while mothers are crying out with broken hearts for their lost teenage daughters. While fathers are calling every hotel and hospital, hoping - begging - to hear their child is safe. While school kids are desperately praying for their friends' lives, for their favorite pop star's safety, for their own sanity.

Is this the world we live in? Where an eight-year-old girl leaves the house in purple cat ears to see her pop idol live in concert, and never returns?

Is this the world we live in? Where a suicide bomber kills 22 innocent people in a Manchester concert hall, yet the rest of us go on with our lives remarkably unaffected - after briefly offering only a sharp gasp? An "oh, god" under our breaths? A sympathetic tweet?

We can't let terror win, I know that. But can we at least more adequately acknowledge its menacing power? Its universe-altering impact? Its innocent young victims?

I'm tremendously bothered by the frequency of horrific events like these, but even more so, I'm bothered by our increasing numbness to their occurrence. Our ability to quickly thank God it wasn't us, maybe express solidarity with 140 characters and a hashtag, then block it out and move on.

I had to scan through every FM radio station three times this morning before finding DJs discussing the bombing rather than dishing on celebrity gossip. Who is Katy Perry's new song about?! Who got the first impression rose on The Bachelorette?! Who rocked the red carpet with their costars at Cannes?

WHO CARES?

But that's exactly the problem - I care. I know exactly who the song is about (Taylor Swift), who got the rose (Bryan), and which costars are stealing the show in France (Nicole Kidman and Elle Fanning).

I am one of the people that heard about the attack - texted loved ones, checked the news, shook my head and sighed - then promptly turned back to to Netflix and Snapchat and whatever other noise I could find to drown out the thought of pain. Terror. Death.

People don't want to talk about it.

Our world is still spinning.

But for the families who suddenly and unfairly had loved ones ripped away from them, the world abrubtly stops.

And it's the least we can do to pause with them. To mourn with them. To at least stop dwelling on the trivial "problems" in our lives to simply think about them.

It's not fun. It's dark and it's morbid.

But ignoring it doesn't make it go away. It doesn't do anything - besides diminish and disrespect the profound loss of fellow humankind.

If it were me, if I was suddenly killed at my favorite artist's concert, and another blogger somewhere across the ocean was sitting at a coffee shop, writing - I hope she'd pause to think of me, too.