Courage, in a Time of Heartbreak

My heart breaks for the family and loved ones touched by another senseless loss of life.
There are no words that can make that kind of grief lighter. There is only presence, sorrow, and the quiet recognition of a pain that should never be normalized.

Today feels heavy — not just because of what happened, but because of what it asks of us.

In times like these, courage is often spoken of loudly.
As action. As protest. As resistance.

And yes — that is one form of courage.

But it is not the only one.

There is also the courage of walking the middle —
of staying open when closing would be easier,
of keeping the heart permeable when pain tempts us to harden,
of refusing to let grief turn into numbness or hatred.

There is courage in showing up publicly.
And there is courage in sitting quietly with what hurts, letting it move through without turning away.

There is courage in raising your voice.
And there is courage in regulating your nervous system so your voice, when used, comes from clarity rather than reactivity.

There is courage in marching.
And there is courage in remaining human in a world that often rewards armor.

Silent courage matters.
Inner courage matters.
The courage to stay present, compassionate, and awake — especially when the field is charged — is not passive. It is powerful.

We do not all serve the moment in the same way.
Some are called to the streets.
Some are called to listening.
Some are called to tending grief — their own and others’.

None of these are lesser.

What matters is not how courage looks,
but whether it keeps us connected — to our humanity, to one another, and to the truth that life is sacred.

May we honor the loss without sensationalizing it.
May we allow heartbreak without becoming broken.
And may we remember that courage, in its deepest form, is the willingness to stay open — even when it hurts.

An Invitation to Walk the Middle

Walking the middle doesn’t always look dramatic.
Often, it looks almost invisible.

Today, if you’re willing, try this:

When you pass a stranger,
meet their eyes.
Offer a small smile.
Not to fix anything.
Not to pretend all is well.
Just to acknowledge: I see you.

These brief moments won’t negate what is happening in the world.
They won’t undo loss or erase harm.

But they do something else.

They soften the field.

They remind the nervous system—yours and theirs—that we are not alone, that humanity still circulates, that connection has not vanished even when the world feels fractured.

Walking the middle is choosing presence over polarization.
It’s choosing relationship over retreat.
It’s letting small acts of coherence ripple outward, quietly, steadily.

A glance.
A smile.
A moment of recognition.

These are not insignificant gestures.
They are threads of repair.

Today, let your courage be gentle.
Let it be human.
Let it be enough.