I’m not sure what to feel but it’s a lot

When Alex Honnold began summiting the skyscraper in Taipei, he was a day ahead of Minneapolis, 7,000 miles from where Alex Pretti was shot, and a world away from the somber reality facing the United States. Still, the massive Netflix production had been delayed by rain, but it couldn’t be kept at bay forever.

I woke up, watched the anger unfold on Instagram, and later that evening watched Honnold climb the tallest building in Taipei live on Netflix. During the hours in between, I went to the gym, got a Costco hot dog, and assembled a shelving rack for my garage. 

The Minnesota Timberwolves and Golden State Warriors postponed their anticipated match that evening. Steve Kerr spoke on the shooting. It’s not the first nor the last time he’ll do that.

I couldn’t figure out why WWE Heavyweight Champion Seth Rollins, was one of the commentators, but he yelled and drummed up excitement, as Honnold left his van parked in front of the building and leisurely began his ascent without ropes or a harness.

I scrolled along the vast digital commentary, surfing posts from celebration to anxiety. Anti-ICE posts – some beautiful artwork, some graphic and blatant, calls for unity, calls to call your representative, and a study that showed how Honnold’s fight-or-flight reactions aren’t the same as ours. I saw a post saying he shouldn’t have been there. It could have been copied and pasted from a different incident. At one point, I joined a family FaceTime with members phoning in from different states and countries, all of us were glued to the TV watching him climb. 

The phone in my hand was working as hard as my nervous system.

If it feels like a lot is going on, it’s because there is.

I turned off the TV and went to a semi-professional hockey game with my fiancé. During a pause in “The Star Spangled Banner,” someone screamed, “Fuck ICE.” The singers continued; they still had “O Canada” to get through.

Honnold reached the top of the building and said, “Sick.” I’ve got to agree with him – it was. Before bed, I allowed myself a scroll before realizing it was making me nauseous. Someone called for Roger Goodell to postpone the NFL conference championship games slated for Sunday afternoon. It wasn’t going to happen. Not the country outraged at the death of Pretti, or Honnold summiting a skyscraper, could pause that.