Stop making sense

The world can seem so mean sometimes. A teenager carrying Skittles can get killed by grown man carrying a gun and it gets called justice. A legislature in Texas can ban bringing tampons into a discussion about women’s reproductive health and then vote to close all but 5 abortion clinics in a state of 26 million people. And a young man who by all accounts was unfailing nice and unquestionably talented can die at the age of 31 alone in a hotel room.

While over the years I have had extreme disagreements with the character of Finn Hudson on “Glee,” I never had any reservations about the character of Cory Monteith the person. Those who knew him and worked with him all agree he was a kind and conscientious person who was good to fans and friends alike. So news of his passing Saturday in a Vancouver hotel was shocking. So much potential, gone just like that. His struggles with addiction were well known, but he had been publically fighting the good fight this year.

For a silly show about singing and dancing teenagers, “Glee” at its best manages to transcend and touch on something universal in our hearts. What attracted me to it from the beginning was its ability to open itself up to joy – and pain, and ultimately, understanding. You may not be a 16-year-old gay boy who gets thrown in the dumpster, but now you might know how one feels. You may not be a closeted lesbian cheerleader in love with her best friend, but now you might know how one feels. You may not be a former high school quarterback who worries his glory days were left on the field, but now you might know how one feels. (Though, I still don’t understand how he was allowed to coach Glee during school hours without a fucking teaching credential. But that, like everything else, is on the writers.)

Of all the lessons that “Glee” has tried to teach us in its four years, this may be its cruelest. Life can be short and the world can be mean. Some days it’s hard to keep believing.