There have been times in my life when the easy path was taking a hapless stranger along my path of helpless rage. I met Beatrice when my oldest son was first traveling a road to Hell paved with liquor bottles and poor choices. I could have allowed Beatrice to piss me off with her eavesdropping intrusiveness. But she taught me the bullshit I couldn’t control might not be bigger than me. That bullshit feels smaller if I smile frequently, compliment strangers, and have a party for one when I score a great parking place or traffic cooperates. Before you wave your “Toxic Positivity” stick at me, there are times I feel like I’m [LR1] dying inside but I’m determined no one else suffers with me. Why did I need to take innocent bystanders down with me? Misery loves company? Especially when every single time the crappy bits turned into lessons about trusting the Universe has me in a warm and safe embrace. Like that time we lived in a crack shack.

 [LR1]I feel like this addressing the reader is part of your voice. I think this might serve well in other parts where we want to connect the reader with the story and so what