What would Colvin do? Go to Avalon.

Don't want to disappoint, don't want to freak you out. Don't want to resurrect all of your buried doubt. But if you wanna know where I’m going to: Avalon.
...
I leave you facing life--in the face of death. There is no deeper truth, there is no truer rest--Avalon.
-Lyrics to Storyhill’s "Avalon"

When relapsing into rougher states of morale, I frequently wonder “what would Colvin do?”  Marie Colvin was a journalist who was willing to die because she had a burning desire to tell the truth about other peoples’ suffering.  [I've written about this realization before in my musings about dour optimism]  She also understood the profundity of presence, and lived that wisdom.  She recognized and promoted the empowering participatory aspect of journalism:  everyone has the privilege of presence, and with social tools that most everyone can use like twitter for broadcasting information, we're even called to acknowledge our obligation and the power of our own presence as witnesses to misfortune, crisis, and tragedy.

I've seen and experienced beautiful and joyous stuff, witnessed significant events in peoples' lives and their communities.  I've also lived through terrifying realities, and helped other people literally survive amid disputes, gunshots, and beatings.

At this point, I question where the wisdom I once took comfort in recent months went.  At this point I can only look back at the year as a comfort which stems from knowing the extent of one's endurance.  As Bear Gryllis (whom I don't admire but can appreciate in some ways) had remarked: the only reward of hardship is pride.

So long as we're able to--and do--help others, we are rich.

In many ways, it's true:  We're privileged to share knowledge of rich places and people--but it's fleeting.  

Perhaps that's an aspect of life that the lyrics to Avalon captures:  amidst fear, we strive for a fantastic ideal that leaves us restless for so long as we live.