Just when I thought we were making tracks. Every time I stretch, I discover there’s more stretch to go. It’s one thing to swallow my pride and listen attentively to people I don’t expect to agree with.
Driving through Beverly Hills yesterday, a large metal sculpture on the median strip caught my eye. From several blocks away, it looked to be a perfect red circle mounted against a white backdrop.
But I worry. I am my father’s daughter and have inherited a number of traits from him. Is it possible that I also unconsciously disparage other people’s experience?
“Just curious,” I said to the group of folks gathered to talk about climate change. “How many of you are Democrats?”
A few people clucked their tongues. Others made snide remarks under their breath.
There were no Republicans.
I don’t know why, but suddenly I got really sad. Something cracked. I saw myself from a distance, a person living inside a bubble, surrounded by…