His voice vibrated with anger. It was contained, waiting for the release of the hello that never came, and my voicemail message forced him to change his tactic. He knew he had to keep that lid on to get a return call, but there was a Tupperware burp at the end, when he spat out an ask on what my plans were to enact the change he wanted.

He wouldn't have been happy with any answers. Generally, I'm at that fabled 30,000 feet view of solutions. With speeding on streets, my role was repeatedly emphasizing in two meetings that staff specifically put the phrase "traffic calming" on a slide with a dollar amount. That is roughly the extent of my powers. He would have disliked that I could not get someone to stand in the road to slow people down. And if I couldn't, perhaps I could take a shift doing that.

Turns out he wanted us to also ban the sale of bird seed in the city, and oh, also, get all the illegals out. That type of vibration always seems to end with that specific request.

I was unpacking his demands, sitting in the Barnes & Noble cafe, waiting for my 13-year-old daughter to link up with her friend for a giggling stroll through Hot Topic. She jumped up when her friend arrived, skipping toward her to give her a hug. She paused and came back to give me hug. I watched them walk off as a woman at a table in front of me, behind a laptop, said, "It's so strange when they go off with their friends and you think, 'but I'm still here.'"

I replied, "But I suppose they have to do that." We continued lobbing Momism back and forth, that she had teenage boys, but his girl cousins were decidedly different. I asked if boys ate as much as they said they did; I only had a 10-year-old so far. She nodded, "Pro tip: teach them to make quick meals and they'll feed themselves." I nodded and said that, currently, it was an excess of Hot Cheetos. We both laughed.

We went back to silence, but when she left, she wished me a good day and I did for her as well. In the car with my daughter, I told her about that Mom interaction and she said that it was moments like that that made her feel like we might be less "cooked" as humanity, as she thought. I asked her how she felt humanity was cooked. She sighed, "In all the ways that we might have to fix it."

"You know, that's what they charged millennials to do as well," I replied. She said, "It might be up to the next generation at this point." We looked at each other and laughed.

Even through phone lines, it's hard not to let the vibrations that are snakes oozing out of the ether wrap around your heart. I've noticed my layer of hardness I've developed from those who can spew vitriol and have stopped seeing people's humanity. The only thing that's saved me is a practice I have had for years, trying to glimpse the divine behind another's hardness, instead of just the darkness of their words and actions. Unfortunately, it's also left me aware that those who shine light are the ones who do so to blind others to their inner shadows.

That's a different column.

While contrasts are humanity unfolding in its complete experience, I sometimes still just want to gather up my daughter and shield her from the dark. She should always be able to skip down an aisle to show me the wildly expensive backpack charm she wants to buy, without needing to buy into hardness. But I know that acting as that shield would just become a shade that would sink her into an unrealistic darkness, especially since the touch of hardness is already there for her.

All I know is that her experience, like mine, like the caller, like the mother, is just a part of humanity sent into the world to understand itself more.

Cassie McClure is a writer, millennial, and unapologetic fan of the Oxford comma. She can be contacted at cassie@mcclurepublications.com. To learn more about Cassie McClure and read features by other Creators Syndicate writers and cartoonists, visit the Creators Syndicate website at www.creators.com.

Photo credit: Bethany Beck at Unsplash