What do we do when the world is on fire?

Nearly 1,800 protests are planned across the country for Saturday.

You might have noticed that I haven’t written in this space for a while. Or maybe you haven’t — we all have a lot streaming into our in-boxes these days.

I could tell you it’s because I have a lot of work writing to do, which is true. And that summer feels like a time to slow down a little, which is also true.

But the truest thing about why I haven’t written is that right now it is nearly impossible for me to focus on whatever later-life topic or interview I can dream up when it feels like the world is tilting on its axis in a particularly nauseating way.

When I’m not willing myself to focus on my work — which, at the moment, is filled with fascinating interviews, challenging next steps and clients who are doing work I think is vital to the world; lucky me — I read the news. Lots of news. Because, as I’ve written before, I can’t help myself. Once a journalist, always a journalist. And I feel the need to keep up, not necessarily with the outrage of the day, but with stories that show what’s happening to people and countries and institutions I care about.

Often, I despair.

For the people who are hurt by policies our government leaders seem to be putting in place because of hubris, power and greed, or simply to be cruel.

For the actions they are taking that are tarnishing whatever credibility and moral authority we may have ever had across the globe, not to mention the needless death and illness that is spreading because U.S. global aid has been suddenly jerked away.

For the sleepless nights and chest pains that are happening close enough to home that I know the names of the people who are suffering because of the things our federal government is doing.

For the fear that is turning us away from each other and making people talk in low voices when they bring up ideas that they think someone else in the room won’t agree with.

I have also been looking for light, and for things I can actually do to speak out and stand up for the issues and people I care about. I have been trying to remember that empathy is the real power move and authentic curiosity is an approach that always works.

I’ve also been swimming a lot. And eating ice cream.

Another thing I’ve been doing, even though it feels pointless sometimes, is calling my elected representatives to tell them exactly how I feel about whatever is happening that day. Right after the inauguration, I made a lot of these calls, too, and was nearly always able to get a real person on the phone, which is way more satisfying. Now, especially with my Republican senators, I always get voicemail.

And I have decided to go to our local “No Kings” protest on Saturday.

Protesting — making signs, marching, even just standing quietly on a street corner — goes against all of my training and instincts. As a journalist, I never participated in anything overtly political, except voting, which stayed private. I never wanted my feelings about a particular issue or candidate — or someone’s perception of those feelings — to get in the way of making good editorial decisions. I was a listener, not an actor.

But I am no longer a working journalist, and this moment feels different. More dangerous and way more dire than ever before, at least in my lifetime.

I want to stand up and be counted, even if it’s just in a crowd on a summer Saturday.

I’ll be the one with the American flag. Because I love my country, and believe that standing up to injustice and cruelty is deeply patriotic. Because I won’t let anyone define MY patriotism.

I’m not sure I ever really believed the famous quote from anthropologist Margaret Mead: Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world; indeed, it’s the only thing that ever has.

I desperately want to believe it now.