Today, I went on the longest walk I’ve managed in some six weeks – alas, modest victory, though not without the occasional throb and pang. Charlotte and I ambled quietly through “King’s Park,” a setting so splendidly colorful it seemed to dare me to feel more optimistic about the state of the world.

Now, as I distance myself from what any sane observer would surely call a colossal, even cataclysmic train wreck, I can’t help but reflect on certain American family members who have been happily onboard that train for some time. Others have more recently adopted a new level of isolationist and tribal zeal which is so profound that they’ve even dispensed with the family name altogether, as if cutting loose from shared history will somehow render them free from its ancient weight. Inevitable, I suppose. Genealogy aside, what did we ever truly have in common? Apparently, not enough to stir a desire for new shared chapters.

Ah, c’est la vie.