A reflection on belonging, surrender and sacred responsibility.

This began with a prayer.

Courtney Martin wrote something beautiful this week. (Home | Substack) A reminder of all that we are still capable of in this time of uncertainty. Her words held space for both the ache and the awe. They called us to step up, to care. They embraced paradox and fuelled hope.

As I read her writing, I found myself drifting to Mel Robbins’ book The Let Them Theory. Her invitation to release control and surrender what was never ours to carry.

It made me wonder:
What happens next?
Once we let them, can we also find each other?
Can we create a future that begins not with control, but with care?
Can we begin again, with a different call? Let us?

As we head into the weekend, I offer this reflection. For our dinner tables, our neighbourhood corners, our workplaces, our communities. A fresh start. A way forward.
A permission slip to take one step at a time. Filled with paradox, yes. But, I hope, comforting nonetheless.

Let us draw our attention away from endless scrolling and toward quiet conversation.

Let us slow down, to look up into each other’s faces.
Let us identify the tools that help us grow,
without forgetting the deep knowing that rests within us.

Let us steer clear of the ultra-processed speech that holds surface-level perfection
but ignores the beautiful quirks that lie beneath.

Let us reach in to understand ourselves so we can understand others.


Let us embrace the paradox in every interaction,
in every piece of work, in every breath.

Let our emotions be honest, but not all-consuming. Let us allow them to move through us like a storm that clears the air.

Let us rest without guilt, rise without shame, and remember that there is no too late for being human.

Let us care (making soup, checking in, offering a ride) and let care count as activism.

Let us be brave enough to invite someone over, even when the house is a mess, even when we are a mess.

Let us understand that not knowing everything is not the same as doing nothing.

Let grief make us permeable, to beauty, to action, to the small sacred acts that whisper: I’m still here. I still care.

Let the votes we cast, the kids we teach, the gardens we tend become our resistance against cynicism.

Let us reset when we are pulled to move forward, when outrage grabs us by the throat or when response feels inevitable. 
Let us ask what we truly want and who we truly are.

Let us navigate complexity with joy, and remember that nuance is worth the effort.

Let us encourage dialogue by remembering to listen,
even when emotion calls us to react.

Let us resist the siren’s song of comparison. Let us block our ears and cover our eyes,
like Odysseus on his journey,
no matter the temporary high of more likes, more reach, more noise.

Let us reach out. Like the Moro reflex that calls infants to seek comfort,
let us not forget that we can reach out to connect as it fuels flourishing.

Let us accept that out of many, we are one.
That we can connect across difference.
That while it may feel like light years separate us, instants connect us.
That our overlapping experiences warrant exploration.
That at the end of it all, we are one community, one planet, one people.

Let us hold the tension: that we are both exhausted and responsible,
scared and loving, still and effusive. That sometimes all we have are the leftovers after giving to the teams we lead, the work we do, the worry we hold.

Let us remember that we have been here before.
Not in this precise form,
but in moments that rhyme.

Let us remember that the light is still on,
guiding us to comfort.

Let us remember that each of us matters.
That each of us has value.
That each of us has the power to change the world.