08/05/2026
As we sit in our leather-wrapped thrones, watching through our windows as neighbors are arrested or killed because they dared to stand for something, we continue to sip our coffee and read the morning paper.
As gay people, we sit beneath the pergolas attached to our beautifully restored mid-century homes while failing to hear the defamation directed at our transgender brothers and sisters.
As we gather in pristine sanctuaries—buildings we’ve willingly given thousands of dollars to construct—we too often fail to hear those on the streets simply begging for help.
As I sit in my own mid-century home on an oak-lined street, I can’t help but wonder why so many of us don’t become involved until injustice affects someone we know personally. It is a sobering realization that empathy so often waits for proximity—that for many hearts, suffering must first arrive at their own doorstep before it becomes real.
I believe our nation was founded on the idea that our neighbor mattered. It was built on communities that celebrated one another’s successes and carried one another through hardship. Somewhere along the way—perhaps in our pursuit of comfort, convenience, or the promise of giving the next generation an easier life—we discarded something essential.
As I write this, I don’t feel surrounded by community. Too often, support feels transactional, offered only when there’s something to gain in return.
That reality exhausts me.
Our relentless pursuit of more—more success, more wealth, more status—has too often come at the expense of one another. Families have become fragmented. Friendships have become conditional. Honest conversations have become rare because vulnerability has become something to fear instead of something to honor.
If we’re ever going to move beyond the bitterness and division of these past years, it won’t happen through louder arguments or sharper political victories. It will happen through two things: community and vulnerability.
Every side has made mistakes. Every city leader has fallen short at times. Progressive leaders have made mistakes. Conservative leaders have made mistakes. Every movement, every institution, every one of us has something we wish we had done differently.
At some point, someone has to be willing to swallow their pride and simply say, “I was wrong. I made a mistake. Now how do we move forward together?”
Because the question isn’t how I win.
The question is how we heal.
Not as isolated individuals.
But as a community.
As a society.
As neighbors.
