We can go on like this, of course, because in America the racist traumas are widespread. How about the next time a black person is stopped and patted down without cause? How do you write about that humiliation in a way that’s different from what you wrote when Forest Whitaker received the same treatment last year, and a New York City police chief before him, and thousands of other innocent black and Latino men before them? What new column shall the writer write when an unarmed black person is killed for doing nothing but frightening an armed white person? The same thing he wrote when Trayvon Martin was killed? And that’s to say nothing of when Oscar Grant was killed. Or when Ramarley Graham was killed. Or when Timothy Stansbury Jr. was killed. Or when Amadou Diallo was killed. Or when Jordan Davis was killed. Or when Ousmane Zongo was killed. Or when Jonathan Ferrell was killed. Or when Renisha McBride was killed.

I thought about that conversation the day I texted a black writer friend of mine, who writes a significant amount about blacks in America, to compliment him on a piece and chat about the potential deleterious effects of writing a lot about race. “It’s not sustainable,” he replied. And though it kept him busy “I’d actually love it if people started not being the worst every day.”

Feeling this lately with the insurmountable mountain of articles about the UCSB shooting and the many many people who have had to once again remind us that women are people too. And the many articles about Jane Doe. And CeCe McDonald. And Laverne Cox. And Janet Mock. With reminders that trans people are people. And people of color are people.

Thank goodness I do not survive on my ability to share my thoughts about these things, because sometimes it’s just all too much.