Sit down, put on some nice instrumental music, maybe Godspeed You Black Emperor, drink some coffee, and read this. And remember why you give a shit.

"She beholds him with her deep, black eyes, thoughts streaming and darting, swelling and swarming in their dark pools, and she envelops him in her symphonic silence, which – you hear it now! – is not really a silence, but a space in which Louie's voice may shine, a protected space where his voice may grow stronger, vaster, freer – not because it can boom against her muteness, but because it can speak for someone other than himself and, in so doing, it may grow from an instrument of self expression to an instrument of grace. Not the abstract concept of grace that we like to discuss and dissect, but the daily practice and experience of it.
"