Two of my recent blogs in retrospect feel a bit like rants. I am reminded of the Mandela quote “hatred is like drinking poison and then waiting for it to kill your enemy.” My insides have felt a ball of string thinking about it. How do I express my resentments without sounding as if I’m doing an “oh, poor me” routine?
My imagined reader might want to play a very small violin for me after reading a diatribe of mine. What about Patty’s actual family? What about all the families stuck in a kind of cold case purgatory? What does it mean to me to get some sort of closure on Patty’s case compared to those people? What should I care if I can’t get a shiny, highly produced podcast?
And rethinking it, I probably could get a seat across from Dan Cunningham. He’s always come off as approachable, helpful, compassionate. Was I fair to him in my last blog? Probably not. Going forward all rants must pass the poison test.
