I have intense feelings and I don’t have any choice but to share them. That’s just the way I’m wired. I love powerfully. I hurt deeply. I experience joy with open exuberance.
I don’t hide my feelings well. If you’re paying any attention at all, you know where you stand with me, because I wear my heart on my sleeve.
But there are times — very rare times — when everything feels numb. When that happens, it means that some part of me — maybe a little part or maybe a big part — has finally died after an extended period of intense pain. It happens without warning, although it’s always predictable in retrospect.
I went numb today. It feels like walking in a driving rainstorm without an umbrella — and not caring what anybody else thinks.

Why exactly is it such a big deal to be invited to the White House?
Inner alarm is louder every day; big changes must come to my life
Why does most love hurt us? Because one usually loves more
Why do American Christians impose political beliefs on God?
Photo assignment in dimly lit gym kickstarted my love for basketball
Cancer diagnosis forces you to decide what really matters in life
Cult’s targeting of family funeral points to folly of speaking for God