I am passionate and thoughtful about politics and religion and the state of education. I love the weight of a good book in my hand and the smell of fresh pages and the crackle of its spine giving life to new words. I relish in the smells of a foreign place, and the look of somewhere I’ve never been, and the welcome sound of strange languages. I appreciate eye contact and conversation and a hand in mine. I’m no different than you.
We want the same things. We want to be heard and we want someone to see who we are in our hearts. We want to belong. The weight of the world can drive us so hard into the ground we stand on. We make ourselves responsible for every little thing. It’s hard for us to see past the dirt our tangled roots call home. It’s hard to see movement and light forming beyond the place we stand still. It’s hard to listen to what we don’t understand.
You are passionate about politics and religion and the state of education. The words on the pages fill you with wonder and curiosity, and you consider the story. You see that this place we call home is built on the backs of many before us, and hard work makes you proud. You hear the rhetoric and you know how far the dialogue has come and where you wish it would go. We want the same things: to be understood, loved and accepted.
It would be nice to be free from the darkness and fear that keeps us where we are. However briefly, we might know that life happens despite our interference. If we moved towards others and not away, mysteries would unfold. If we listened to the drum beat of passions not our own, we would hear music. If we locked arms with a stranger, we would walk together not ahead or behind. We might see and hear them and know, for just a few moments, that we’re no different.