I’m living in separate universes, and I have no idea where I actually belong.

I whispered to Dad during Rosh Hashanah services, "Do you believe in God?" "Not really," he said. "No." "Then why do we come here?" He sucked thoughfully on his Tums tablet and put his arm around me, draping me under his musty woolen prayer shawl, and then shrugged. "I've been wrong before," he said. And that pretty much summed up what theology there was to find in the Foxman home.

I've never been shot, but this probably what it feels like, that second of nothingness right before the pain catches up to the bullet.

I’m living in separate universes, and I have no idea where I actually belong.

I may not be old but I’m too old to have this much nothing

We're all clichés, all following scripts that have been written and played out long before we landed the role.

You have to look at what you have right in front of you, at what it could be, and stop measuring it against what you've lost. I know this to be wise and true, just as I know that pretty much no one can do it.