It’s Ok Not to Think about Newtown For a Moment

It’s OK to stop thinking about Newtown for a few minutes. Or several days. And read this meditation on joy instead of all the arguments about ammunition magazines and packing teachers.

I give you permission.

Here’s Smith in her youth in the early 90s. Can she kick it? Yes, she can.

Then suddenly I could hear Q-Tip—blessed Q-Tip!—not a synthesizer, not a vocoder, but Q-Tip, with his human voice, rapping over a human beat. And the top of my skull opened to let human Q-Tip in, and a rail-thin man with enormous eyes reached across a sea of bodies for my hand. He kept asking me the same thing over and over: You feeling it? I was. My ridiculous heels were killing me, I was terrified I might die, yet I felt simultaneously overwhelmed with delight that “Can I Kick It?” should happen to be playing at this precise moment in the history of the world, and was now morphing into “Smells Like Teen Spirit.” I took the man’s hand. The top of my head flew away. We danced and danced. We gave ourselves up to joy.

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