That place I am too often too scared to go in my writing and in my life is, to a degree, represented here. What’s most important—and this I do touch on—is that we start with one, with ourselves, that we summon and embrace our compassion for others.
I read an article once about tribalism — it was some pseudo-scientific sociological essay that sought to explain if not excuse racism. It purported that we gather in like groups for protection, and that we, as human beings, naturally shun what is different and fear what we don’t understand — and that fear is a survival mechanism.
I thought that in some ways it made some valid points, but then, it reduced humans to little more than chemical reactions and genetic triggers and actors in a pre-designed script. I’d like to think we’re more than that. I’d like to think that we can choose to think outside of those boundaries and embrace each other as all belonging to the human race. I’d like to think that people are people.
At least, the idealist in me wants to believe that.
I’m supposed to be writing something about compassion, and yet I’m…
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