The Quiet Work Ahead
It would be so boring to post “some personal news” and miss the moment to post a call to arms (for hugs!). So yeah, making a big life change but let’s start with why.
There is a fatigue settling over many of us that’s quiet, cumulative, and corrosive. It’s the exhaustion of watching the world tilt toward something smaller, meaner, more brittle than it ought to be. We scroll through headlines and feel the steady drumbeat of erosion: of rights, of truth, of the shared belief that we owe something to one another. Democracy, we were taught, was a grand, enduring architecture. Something self-correcting, resilient, inevitable. Yet the truth of this moment is more fragile. Democracy does not defend itself. It requires people who are willing to stand up for it, again and again, long after the novelty or applause disappears.
But standing up has been confused with shouting. Resistance has been mistaken for spectacle. And many of us are simply tired. Tired of outrage, tired of division, tired of the feeling that everything is broken and we are too small to fix it. The danger is not that we get angry. It’s that we go numb.
So what does it mean to fight for democracy in a time when so many feel depleted?
First, we must release the idea that fighting only looks like confrontation. Yes, there are moments when we must march, speak, vote, organize with forceful clarity. But the deeper battle, the one beneath the headlines, is a cultural and spiritual one. It’s about refusing to surrender our humanity. It’s about making sure our inner lives remain too expansive to be colonized by fear, cynicism, or isolation.
We have to fight.
Not with fists or with rage, not by mirroring the tactics that wound us, but with the stubbornness of kindness in a culture that prefers cruelty because it’s easier to sell. With the insistence that imagination belongs to everyone… not just the powerful, not just the algorithmic arbiters of attention. We have to fight with the knowledge that healing is itself an act of rebellion in a society that thrives on exhaustion. To rest is to refuse to be used up. To care is to reject the myth of separateness.
Democracy is not sustained by laws alone. Democracy is sustained by the invisible threads that bind us: trust, curiosity, shared purpose, the belief that our neighbors’ well-being is tied to our own. When those threads fray, institutions cannot save us. When those threads strengthen, institutions follow.
This moment asks us to practice a quieter, steadier form of courage: showing up for one another in ways that feel almost too small to matter. Inviting dialogue with someone we disagree with, without the secret wish to win. Building spaces, literal or figurative, where people can think and imagine in community. Protecting art, humor, tenderness, and joy as public goods, not luxuries. These are not distractions from the fight for democracy; they are the oxygen it needs to breathe.
We must also remember that resilience is not an individual sport, it’s a collective art. A single person burning bright burns out. A community burning steadily can warm a city. The work ahead is not to become heroes, but to become participants. To join with others, imperfectly and honestly, in the shared labor of repair.
Yes, this era can feel overwhelming. The opposition feels coordinated, well-funded, and relentless. But so is love when we choose to wield it with intention. So is community when we treat it as a practice and not a pastime. So is imagination when we allow it to move beyond critique into creation.
Defending democracy will not be one dramatic moment of triumph. It will be a long, imperfect sequence of small acts of refusal and renewal. A commitment to keep choosing connection over corrosion, curiosity over certainty, care over convenience.
The question is not whether we are up for the fight. The question is how we will fight: what values we will bring into the ring, and what kinds of futures we dare to rehearse through the ways we treat one another now.
If democracy is to survive, if it is to evolve into something more compassionate, more just, more attuned to the fullness of human dignity, then it will not be because we out-shouted those who seek to shrink the world. It will be because we out-imagined them, out-cared them, and out-lasted the forces that would have us believe that despair is the only reasonable response.
There is work to be done. Tender, creative, disciplined work. Let us begin not with fury, but with formation. Not with noise, but with nourishment. The future is shaped by those who keep showing up. It will take courage in their hearts and others at their side.
So with all that said, you can understand why I’ve stepped out of my full-time role with ClearCompany to gain more capacity. That includes more capacity for Maybe It’s Fate, where I steward a cooperative that’s a space for thinking, imagining, and building resilience in community. If you're in Louisville, I hope you'll join me and the community. Wherever you are, I hope you lean into the fight, and not flight, and keep showing up for your community.
Originally published on LinkedIn Oct 31, 2025
