Many of us know the feeling lately, the sense of shock and sadness, a sinking in the pit of the stomach, and great frustration, even as the arguments begin. A great sense of paralysis, of people locked into their labels, no longer able to listen, hear or feel for the people standing in different shoes.

A shared feeling of pain, loss, sadness, shock.

I feel helpless, as I am sure almost everyone reading this does. And I feel frustrated, because everyone quickly begins talking to and over one another and no one seems to do anything, or agree on what to do. Tragedies are awful, but they can also connect us to one another in ways we sometimes forget.

Is there anything I can do? I don’t know, I truly don’t know what it is, at least  not on a grand scale. I feel estranged from my own country sometimes I can’t believe what I am seeing.

I’m prepared to change, to think differently, to do my part, to contribute.  But I don’t know what my part is.

As these moments become ritualized, as they become the commonplace, as we come to accept them as part of life in our country, as our senses become dulled to tragedy, even slaughter,  I have come to my own idea about what do in their aftermath.

What can I do?  What is my role?

I don’t know, really. I’m not always sure there is a place for me in this any longer, I don’t seem to fit neatly into the left or the right. Sometimes these things seem incomprehensible to me, beyond my grasp, way over my tiny head and small life.

Maybe I can vote for the right person, join the right group, make the right statement. Is this an old and outdated feeling? Am I fooling myself?

Walking on the road this morning, talking to Maria, I had this familiar feeling of being overwhelmed once more by helplessness.

But I am not helpless, we are never helpless. I just can’t accept that state of mind, I’d be dead by now.

I do have a solution for me, as small as it is. I feel for the many good people of the world who are heartsick this morning, and who are searching for a better place.

Sometimes, I can write my way through it. Or photograph my way through it. Or love my way through it.

I can’t tell others what they should do, only that what I do is this:

I look to do a small thing of good for someone. A friend. Someone I know or love. Someone I hear about.

If I can’t do a big good, I can do a small good. I should be honest. It’s a selfish thing, it’s for me as much as them. I believe acts of giving are almost always selfish, they help us to feel better about who we are.

When I heard the news from Dallas this morning, I thought once more of Kelly, the bartender and waitress at the Bog, a local tavern known for its hamburgers. At first, I wondered why I was thinking of her. The loss of puppies is sad, but not a tragedy or outrage of the scale we see almost every day now on the news.

I believe so strongly in perspective, I write about it all of the time.

I think I kept thinking about it because I decided to try and raise some money for Kelly’s vet bills on my blog, and this did make me feel better, less helpless, less hopeless, more human, more connected to humanity. It was healing, I realized, that’s why it kept coming back to me on a day of such immense loss and pain for other people.

I thought of Kelly fighting to save her new rescue dog and her five puppies, saving two and the mother, losing three. She was stricken, I think of her sad face,  she had to put $1,300 on her credit card. It wasn’t about the money, it was about the dead puppies. I remember how much I agonized about amputating my barn cat Minnie’s leg, it cost nearly $2,000, an unheard of amount to spend on a barn cat. Maria did not hesitate.

Neither did Kelly. Such goodness gives me hope and inspires me.

Kelly was uncomplaining, another rarity. It was, she said, for her dog. Kelly is full of good feeling. She said she didn’t have a choice.  Perhaps I could do something about that, when I can’t do much about anything else but watch in sadness.

I wrote about Kelly and her puppies last night before I knew what happened in Dallas, before I saw the videos from Minnesota and Louisiana.

In the gloom of the darkness, while in bed in disbelief, looking at the news, I saw this image of her smiling, I thought of handing her some money to help pay down that credit card. I think her smile would return, in a way. And I felt better.  I felt human.

Perhaps it’s the photography. When you take a portrait of them, you are connected to them for life, even if they don’t know it.

I do not equate Kelly’s loss with the loss in Dallas or Orlando or Baton  Rouge or St. Paul, I do not trivialize tragedy. I wait for the leader who can guide me to higher ground.

I can only do what I can do, and I don’t choose to argue in place of being a moral human. But I can do something, even out here in the country. Perhaps in doing the small things, we can find the heart and way to do the bigger ones. Perhaps the small things keep our human connections alive.

I believe in the small credo of healing and growing. One person at a time, one day at a time, one small thing at a time. The way back, the path for me. Empathy is contagious, so is justice and compassion. Even one puppy at a time. This is my idea for today, the best I can do, and I will be pursuing it.

I am smiling at the thought, for the first time today.