A Couple of Notes

1. This blog is not chronological. There’s just no way. There’s a lot I want to write, but for some of it, I’m still processing. It is just that hard and there’s so much. It’s messy. It’s mine.
2. For those of you who are just stopping through, the real posts are only accessible if you register. It is a very personal blog so yes, I want to know who is reading it.
3. The Categories or “Tiers”
   1. Some posts, like this one, are public
   2. Others are free with registration.
   3. Then there are those that are only for my paid subscribers because they‘re wild and generous enough to keep me accountable. When a friend told me to set up tiers and allow people to donate if they want, I thought he was crazy. He won the bet.
4. “I contain multitudes.” Whatever that means to you or in other contexts in which it is used, here, it is a not-so-humble admission that you will read things I’ve written that conflict with something I’ve said, posted somewhere else at a different time/place, and even with something I wrote in the same blog. I HAVE NO ANSWERS. The whole point of this is discovery and understanding. So I do try on different ideas or say things in different ways to try to make some sense of all of it.

If you’re here for certainty or answers, this isn’t the place. But if you’re here for messy and complicated authenticity and messy and complicated attempts at growth and understanding, welcome.

And if you know me in real life, which most of you do or think you do, please don’t overthink any of this. Not everything is a cry for help, not everything is about you or anyone I know. Sometimes, it’s just something I need to put in writing to nobody and everybody at the same time.

I’m in a strange place both literally and figuratively.

What I believed before setting out on this trip is not what I believed when I got to Rwanda.

What I believed day to day in Rwanda is not what I believe today.

What I believe today… well, you get the picture.

Tonight is The Eleventh Night in Northern Ireland. It’s part of the annual “marching season,” when Protestant communities mark the 1690 victory of King William of Orange over King James II at the Battle of the Boyne. Tomorrow’s a public holiday, and I’ll be out watching the Orange Order parades.

The bonfires are politically and culturally loaded. People started drinking early today. The towering stacks of wood—some standing for days—are like kindling-packed monuments. I’m told that around 11 PM, the small ones are lit for the kids. Then they go to bed, and the big ones burn for the adults. You’ll find them scattered across neighborhoods, public parks, even fenced-off lots.

Tonight, fires will light the sky—carrying with them over three centuries of memory, identity, and unresolved grievance.

I don’t pretend to fully understand what I’m witnessing here yet. But, I’m paying attention. What I do know is that what will burn in these fires isn’t just history, it’s identity, anger, survival, pride, ego, trauma. It’s a mirror in a way. And like most mirrors (to me, all mirrors), it’s uncomfortable. But I guess if I wanted comfort, I would have gone Bora Bora instead of Belfast.