My son really wanted the Patriots to win, not because he has any ties to New England, but because the Giants beat his beloved Green Bay Packers, and he wanted payback; and he also wanted to show up some of the dads at our school bus stop, who are big Giants fans, and who, in my son’s opinion, brag too much.

I rooted desperately for the Patriots, too, but only because I wanted my son to avoid loss and heartache. I thought of Yeats' prayer for his daughter when “Once more the storm is howling,” and felt for all the heartache, regrets, dashed hopes, rejections, and self-doubt that we all have to bear. The best we can hope for is that it comes in small, manageable doses.

During my meditation tonight, I noticed my own sadness for him, but behind the sadness, also an angry voice, a voice that I know is present but that I don’t usually hear, a voice that wants revenge against something, someone, for all the sadness to be born. It’s a voice that seems so natural, and so easy to identify with. It was interesting to see it.