I begin to believe there’s no place for me, as I am, with the life experience I’ve got, in the work of liberatory change. That brings me to a standstill, despairing, frantically looking around for a path. Then someone hands me a stone to lay down, and I take my first step and keep going.

From a place of committed, reasoned compassion, I can pay close attention to those who would do me or others harm. Contempt, on the other, hand leaves no room to consider the other as whole and complex, and there’s little space in that to consider creative, effective response. Contempt requires energy I can’t spare.

Without making sense of the world, it’s hard to know who I am in its context. It’s hard to know what to do in order to thrive. That uncertainty is frightening. But what if the ways I’m making sense of the world no longer serves more thriving and more peace?

It’s tempting to impose righteous solutions in the face of very frightening social and global dynamics. It’s easy to slip into simple certainty in the face of complex uncertainty. It’s easy to want to respond to apparent and real existential threats to cultures, human rights, and lives with repression and even violence. But that will never lead to a world where more people thrive in ever more peace. That’s why I need to guard my fear.

Nothing can stop me from behaving in ways to drive thriving and peace.

It’s dangerous to affirm existential fear. It strengthens the hands of those who manipulate it. Uncovering this nonsense provides an opening.

Because humanity is defined by almost infinite perspectives, I will always be caught off guard by biases I didn’t realize I’d had. Human history is too long and complex for anyone to know all of it, and I cannot know the hurt and tender places in everyone I meet. So, I will inevitably misspeak or act. I will inevitably cause harm. And others will inevitably harm me. . . . And my gosh that’s uncomfortable to know.

There is too much violence and injustice in the world to keep driving people away from movements for thriving and peace.

I don’t know what to say about what’s to be done. In fact, in the face of the complex histories that undergird most if not all of the wars in the world, if I waited on knowing I’d stay stunned and still for a long, long time. But knowing is not all it’s cracked up to be. There are other ways to engage the world.

“We’ll never win” is not a reason to lose hope, or to lose sight of joy, the glorious light in most human beings, or powerful advances in human rights and freedoms. It might not even be all bad.

When responses to horrible trends and events begin to sound like shouts returning across an empty canyon, echoing themselves but changing little, then it’s time to stop shouting and listen.

It would do no good to dwell on my intention, or my honest not knowing. It would be awful to get mad at them for hurting, or to question whether their pain is real. But that’s exactly what happens, far too often, to people who suffer from weathering. When it does, it only makes things worse.

It’s uncomfortable to live with paradox, with things that seem to clash against each other. I struggle to hold the particulars of social identity, especially those that have been constructed precisely to undermine shared humanity. It seems at odds with the world I want to know. But is it?

Practicing steadiness and accountability, in small ways, day to day, may seem like a pin drop compared to the roar that Tyre Nichols’ killing deserves. But imagine if even one of those men that day had been practiced at getting hold of himself. Imagine if even one of those men were practiced enough at deep apology to see past the moment, to the horrible consequence, and commit to do no more harm.

Certainty is far less frightening, but uncertainty offers more hope for moving forward.

The kind of grace we can offer each other is a generous stance. It doesn’t sanction persistent ignorance, bigotry, or harm. It makes room for the good in people to shine. It makes it possible for them to change.

But thinking is not enough. Learning is not enough. Being moved is not enough. - thinking together needs to drive change.

If we assume that others can't or won't change? How is it possible to change unjust and inequitable systems and structures?

Because I do often believe that the people with whom I disagree threaten to ruin all that I love, the pull is strong to try to make them change.

Practicing compassion in the face of threat is really, really hard. No wonder the Dalai Lama calls compassion a sign of strength.