In my galaxy of thoughts, I just had one shoot by that caught my eye. For now, the others are blurry and distant, which is fine: Do you believe in fate? I do not. 

Historically, I have not believed in fate because I think that we are all free agents. We can think and choose enough around us so as to not be especially constrained or forced down a particular path, as if strapped to a rocket that’s been pointed and positioned to go in one of a number of directions for one of a number of times. Not everything is in our control, but certainly more than fate would seem to suggest. My thought about ten minutes ago was additive. 

Fate is not compatible with my value system. That is a much stronger statement and thought. It occurred to me that were I to be believe in fate, I would necessarily be saying that some people are inherently better than other people – that the “universe” has chosen some people to be fabulously wealthy, healthy and respected and that there is nothing that a poor person or one with a disability can do about it. Or less dramatically, an “average” person. That we are different is not the point, those will always exist. Fate seems to say that differences that clearly denote stature and station are fixed – a sort of caste system that is universal and driven by the universe. I think that this is incorrect (and wrong) and another reason to dispute fate. 

Tonight I flipped through some new releases on Netflix and was quickly drawn to a title: Fruitvale Station. 

Having visited San Francisco for the first time only one week ago, and having passed through that station at least a half dozen times, the bulb of recognition immediately went off. I exclaimed to myself and in my dimly lit living room, “That must be in San Francisco!”. Only one week ago, the title would have meant nothing. Yet, it was familiar. 

Stories of rampant police misconduct are as familiar and fresh. Familial. I probably should not have watched that movie right before bed. I knew as much when I sat down to watch it two hours ago. Still, the hard truth is inconvenient. There is no good time for it. The truth never stops being true, just as injustice continues to be unjust, and in this case, present from start to finish. 
“Fruitvale”, even when I first heard it, struck me as quite an image rich and colorful name. Oakland, California – a place like so many others were colors matter – where blue and black seem to be a perilous combination.