Rien

I'm thinking about Louis XVI's journal entry on the day that his fed up peasants stormed Versaille. He wrote simply, "Rien." Nothing.

Nothing of any note had happened on that day.  He probably was depressed because he had gone hunting and hadn't killed anything.  Perhaps that's what "Rien" was referring to.  But the bottom line is that he had nothing to say - or write.

Sometimes I open a new blog post even though I don't have anything particular to say.  I'm just curious to see whether some thought or feeling will come out of its hiding place and make itself known on the page.  I feel like I want to reach out to some reader who needs a blog-induced smile or a new perspective on something, and so I hope that I'll have something to share.

Sometimes "Rien" is a choice not to say anything.  Not to analyze or reflect or share.  Just to live in the midst of what is true.  I have cancer, I have a job, I have a spouse, I have grown children. There's war and racism and sexism and way too much poverty.  And I'm just here in the midst of it - getting up in the morning, making coffee, trying to be a good spouse and friend and mother and colleague, and hoping at the end of the day that I've done something to make the world a tiny bit better.