Yesterday I was watching an interview with my friend Marianne Williamson on Piers Morgan’s show. I’m always interested in hearing Marianne’s high-minded perspective on life, politics, and where we are as a country.

That being said, I’m not a huge fan of Piers, or of the broader style of cable news he often represents. Too much of it is built around the “gotcha” question, the sharp exchange, the conflict that might become a headline or viral clip, rather than a genuine attempt to understand what is true or what might actually help us move forward in healthier ways as a society. Not always, of course. He did have Marianne on, after all. But it’s far too often. And that whole toxic dynamic was very much at play in the larger panel conversation yesterday.

But as usual, Marianne brought something deeper into the room.

One exchange in particular really landed for me. The panel conversation had become increasingly combative, with people talking past one another and complex questions being forced, by the host, into simplistic yes-or-no frames that completely bypass the depth and complexity we actually need to be delving into—related to the most important issues of our time. But this was largely, the kind of political conversation we see constantly now, and one that leaves a lot of people exhausted rather than informed.

Marianne finally called out the conversation itself.

She said:

“I think what’s the problem is the tenor of this conversation. I think it’s kind of tragic because everything that we have talked about here is extremely important. It’s important for us, for our country, for our children, and for generations to come. And yet we could not have anything above a sophomore conversation, not really listening to one another, not creating a space where anyone can speak with nuance, attacking each other. That’s what turns voters off, by the way. And so we have got to recreate the field of conversation here.”

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She went on:

“I have traveled this country a lot as a candidate, and also not as a candidate. And I think what people want is an adult conversation. That’s what people want. And adults get down and get real.”

And then she landed on something I wish more people in media would take seriously:

“I’m all for a more intelligent conversation with the American people. That’s what they have in a lot of countries, and if they can do it, we can too. We talk to voters like they’re in the seventh grade, and we should not be surprised at the results that we’re getting because of it.”

This really nailed it.

Our media spends so much time in shallow, overly simplistic conversations. Too often, it does more to dumb us down than enlighten us. In fact, its profit-captured model rewards scandal, polarization, and getting as much fear pumping through our veins as possible. This is what they believe sells.

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This whole “media-industrial complex,” beholden to the bottom lines of giant corporate conglomerates, is a big part of our problem with politics in general. It is constantly pitting us against one another, building up conflict, and training our meaning-making brains to see life through the same adversarial lens. That mindset doesn’t stay confined to politics or the media. It leaks out into so many facets of our lives and society, shaping, at least to some degree, how we see one another, how we handle disagreement, and ultimately, how well we are able to get along.

And it’s not just cable news. It’s social media, podcasts, YouTube, and so much more. Much of it is algorithmically driven to keep us pumped up on fear and scandal so we keep coming back for more.

But increasingly, people are turning away from all of it. The toxicity of the model is starting to show its limits. People’s nervous systems can only handle so much of the constant priming for fear, conflict, and outrage.

Still, these media outlets remain a dominant way we tell stories about ourselves and our society. And stories matter. They are how we learn, they influence how we feel, and they help shape how we understand ourselves, one another, and the world around us.

Which is why the quality of those stories, and the quality of the conversations around them, has such far-reaching consequences.

It was great to hear Marianne point out the whole messy cycle, right to its face. And model for them another way.

If you’re as exhausted by this kind of mean-spirited, conflict-driven media culture as I am, you might appreciate this short clip. If you like it, share it around.

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Matthew Albracht is the Board Chair of The Peace Alliance (www.peacealliance.org), a U.S. based NGO which advocates for domestic and international peacebuilding priorities. His writing has appeared on CNN, Newsweek, Salon and HuffPost, among other outlets.

His Substack writings explore how we heal—from the inside out and the bottom up—personally, politically, and culturally—with a particular focus on the intersections between them all. Weaving together politics, psychology, and personal growth, grounded in systems thinking and trauma-awareness.

Follow Matthew on: Instagram, Twitter, Facebook and Tik Tok

Fourteen years ago today, my partner and I moved into our eco-home, a straw bale house. Completely coincidentally, it was April 21, Earth Day. I’ve always thought that was a fitting and rather sweet synchronicity.

Most of our walls were built with bales of leftover rice straw, about two feet thick, then covered with chicken wire and stucco, which makes for wonderful insulation. The house is heated with radiant water pipes. The roof insulation is recycled newspaper. And we get a good chunk of our electricity from solar.

I am sharing a few photos not because I think personal choices like this are enough, but because this house has long felt to me like one act of partnership with the Earth. Living here has only deepened my awareness of how dependent we are on a stable, living planet, and how recklessly we have treated that gift.

On this Earth Day, I find myself thinking about our precious and poorly treated home, and about how close we may be to some very intense and destabilizing times as climate change accelerates.

Just this past week, scientists released a deeply concerning report on the Atlantic Ocean current system known as the AMOC. It was already understood to be at its weakest point in 1,600 years because of the climate crisis. While scientists had been watching it slow, many believed we might still have decades before a full shutdown became a serious near-term possibility. Now they are warning that it could come much sooner than expected.

If that happens, it would not be some distant or abstract ocean event. It could be one of the most devastating climate disruptions we face, with catastrophic ripple effects across food systems, rainfall patterns, sea levels, and human communities.

As The Guardian reports:

“The research found that if carbon emissions continued to rise, 70% of the model runs led to collapse, while an intermediate level of emissions resulted in collapse in 37% of the models. Even in the case of low future emissions, an Amoc shutdown happened in 25% of the models.

Scientists have warned previously that Amoc collapse must be avoided ‘at all costs’. It would shift the tropical rainfall belt on which many millions of people rely to grow their food, plunge western Europe into extreme cold winters and summer droughts, and add 20 inches to already rising sea levels.”

It is hard to take in language like that. Hard to hold it in the body. Hard not to want to look away.

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But this crisis is not being driven by fate. It is being driven by human choices, above all our continued dependence on fossil fuels and the political failure to act at anything close to the scale this moment requires. And that means our choices still matter too.

This is also only one example of what is before us. We are already living amid rapidly shifting climate patterns that are wreaking unprecedented havoc across the globe. Fires. Floods. Drought. Crop loss. Displacement. Ecological unraveling. None of it is theoretical anymore.

And yet, this is not a call to despair. It’s a call to seriousness.

It is not too late to prevent some of the worst that could still unfold. But we have to stop playing dangerous political games with this crisis. We need public policy that matches the scale of the threat. We need leaders willing to stop new fossil fuel expansion, accelerate the transition to clean energy, protect climate science, invest in resilience, and act as if the future is actually at stake, because it very much is. And these actions will not only help some distant future. They can improve life right now through cleaner air, cleaner water, and a more stable climate that brings fewer extremes, less devastation, and greater safety for all of us.

Earth Day cannot just be appreciation. It has to be allegiance. Allegiance to truth. To science. To our future generations. To a living world that makes our lives possible.

Yes, let Earth Day invite our wonder. Let it remind us of blue sky, white clouds, green leaves, and the miracle of being here at all. But let it also summon our courage. Because loving the Earth now cannot just be a feeling. It has to become a form of citizenship. A form of moral action. The Earth is our home, and defending it is one of the most necessary responsibilities of our time.

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Matthew Albracht is the Board Chair of The Peace Alliance (www.peacealliance.org), a U.S. based NGO which advocates for domestic and international peacebuilding priorities. His writing has appeared on CNN, Newsweek, Salon and HuffPost, where he contributed regularly, among other outlets.

His Substack writings explore how we heal—from the inside out and the bottom up—personally, politically, and culturally—with a particular focus on the intersections between them all. Weaving together politics, psychology, and personal growth, grounded in systems thinking and trauma-awareness.

Follow Matthew on: Instagram, Twitter, Facebook and Tik Tok

Over the last few weeks, I found myself in a pretty in-depth email exchange with someone who was pitching working with me, that I thought might become a real strategic partner for a new writing project I’m launching. It was an encouraging and promising exchange with “Becky.” She seemed thoughtful, perceptive and asked smart questions. She reflected back the architecture of what I’m working on with a depth that felt pretty exciting to me. I was feeling pretty smitten with the potential of having someone like that on my team, even if the exchange was in early stages.

And then something broke in the exchange. And it became clear I hadn’t been talking to a real person at all. But instead, some new kind of AI-assisted scammer. A highly sophisticated one. And I later learned that I’m far from the only target, it’s a spookily growing trend.

What struck me most wasn’t just that it was a scam. It’s how convincing it was. How well it seemed to understand my project and my goals in a way that some generic scammer could not have. That’s a new and more unsettling kind of hook — and a preview of something coming faster than most of us realize. It’s something we should all be vigilantly on the look out for.

I wrote a lot more of the details about the whole experience for Newsweek. You can check it out!

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Matthew Albracht is the Board Chair of The Peace Alliance (www.peacealliance.org), a U.S. based NGO which advocates for domestic and international peacebuilding priorities. His writing has appeared on CNN, Newsweek, Salon and HuffPost, where he contributed regularly, among other outlets.

His Substack writings explore how we heal—from the inside out and the bottom up—personally, politically, and culturally—with a particular focus on the intersections between them all. Weaving together politics, psychology, and personal growth, grounded in systems thinking and trauma-awareness.

Follow Matthew on: Instagram, Twitter, Facebook and Tik Tok

If you pay attention to your body while you read the news, you can feel it.

The tightening in the chest. The shallow breath. The reflex to roll your eyes, clench your jaw, pick a side, and brace for impact. That’s not an intellectual response. That’s your nervous system deciding the world isn’t safe.

And the truth is, a lot of our politics is not just “heated debate.” It’s mass dysregulation — a state where the nervous system is so flooded with threat and stress that clear thinking, empathy, and genuine deliberation become nearly impossible. Chronic activation. A culture caught in a stress response so constant it becomes hard to imagine there could be anything healthier outside the bubble it has created.

Our political ecosystem has become a machine for this. Leaders provoke. Audiences react. Media amplifies. Algorithms reward whatever spikes emotion fastest. Fundraising follows the outrage. The whole cycle trains us into a narrower and narrower state, where nuance feels like weakness and contempt passes for conviction.

In that environment, politics stops being an arena where we deliberate for the common good. It becomes a stage where we reenact our oldest survival patterns: fight, flight, freeze, and the desperate scramble for belonging.

What we’re living through isn’t only a policy crisis. It’s an emotional maturity crisis. A co-regulation crisis. A crisis of whether anyone in power can stay steady enough under pressure to help the rest of us widen, rather than collapse. It’s a game we seem to be losing.

We don’t just need smarter policy platforms (though we certainly do). We need leaders who can carry conflict without turning it into annihilation. Leaders who can tell the truth without contempt. Leaders who can model real adulthood in public. This would do more to open up our capacity for the positive change most of us long for than just about anything. But it’s a tall order given the limiting system we live within, and with the pool of leadership we currently have before us. Far too often modeling the worst of us, not the best of us.

The hidden loop we are stuck in

Here is the toxic loop as I see it.

Provocation gets attention. Attention gets amplified. Amplification triggers the crowd. The crowd rewards escalation. That reward trains leaders to escalate again.

A dysregulated leader dysregulates the room. The room dysregulates the country.

That is the trap. We spiral inside it, mistaking intensity for strength and cruelty for clarity or justice.

And if we wonder why whole and healthy arguments rarely break through, this is a big part of the answer. When already stressed and dysregulated people get activated, they can’t reliably take in nuance. They narrow. They sort the world into friend and foe. They may seek belonging through shared enemies. They reach for certainty, not complexity. In that state, politics becomes less about solving problems and more about managing fear.

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A nation stuck in trauma response

Look at our political landscape honestly and what you see, underneath all the noise, is a lot of people acting from unprocessed psychological and developmental wounding. This is true of voters. And it is deeply true of many of our leaders.

When politicians attack and humiliate, when they perform constant public rage, when they govern through grievance and keep their followers in a permanent state of threat, they do more than model destructive behavior. They trigger the collective nervous system.

If someone experiences the world as hostile, maybe because they have spent parts of their lives feeling unseen, attacked, abused, oppressed, or not loved enough, they can gravitate toward leaders who feel familiar inside that hostility, even if those leaders intensify the very conditions that keep them trapped. It isn’t rational. It’s somatic. It happens below the level of conscious thought.

The allure of a deregulating leader isn’t always about the policies they promise. Sometimes it’s about the relief of being mirrored. The feeling that someone finally understands your anger. The camaraderie of shared grievance. The familiarity of chaos can feel safer than the unfamiliarity of calm, especially if calm has never lasted.

This may not be most people. But it is enough people to shape elections and dominate news cycles. And the more our political environment amplifies dysregulation, the harder it becomes for anyone, on any side, to respond from their best self.

We are spinning. We keep spinning. And a lot of us are exhausted.

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Most People Know It When They See It

Here’s what gives me hope: you don’t need to have had a great therapist, a secure childhood, or an intact support network to recognize groundedness when it’s standing in front of you. Most of us haven’t had those things as deeply as we need them. But something in us still responds — to warmth, steadiness, and the sense that the person speaking actually means what they say.

We know it when we see it. We feel it in our bodies before we can explain it with our words.

This matters politically because it means the opportunity isn’t only for the already-healed. A well-regulated leader can help a dysregulated audience hear things they couldn’t hear before — not because the argument improved, but because the nervous system settled enough to let it in. The message hasn’t changed; the container for it has. And that changes things.

Most of us are longing for this, even those of us who can’t name it. We’re longing for connection. For someone to model what calm, introspective leadership actually looks like. For a sense that the adults are in the room.

I don’t mean bland. I don’t mean passive. I don’t mean “above the fray” in a way that excuses injustice or dodges righteous anger. I mean a leader who can carry conflict without turning it into all out annihilation.

Someone who can tell the truth without contempt.
Someone who can oppose policies without dehumanizing individual people.
Someone who can admit mistakes without collapsing into shame or doubling down in aggression.
Someone who does not need to perform dominance to feel powerful.

It is startling how rare this is now. Which is exactly why it stands out when it appears.

The Rise of James Talarico

This brings me to Rep. James Talarico.

Talarico is a Texas state representative who is becoming an unexpectedly compelling national voice, in part because he speaks in a register that politics has largely abandoned: moral seriousness without dehumanization. He is a former public school teacher and a Christian who talks openly about faith — including in a Democratic Party ecosystem that often struggles to speak about spirituality without discomfort or condescension. His public profile has surged, and he has stepped onto a bigger stage through a U.S. Senate campaign (You can visit his website and even donate here).

You don’t have to agree with Talarico on everything to notice the pattern.

He works hard not to demonize opponents. He tends to critique worldviews and systems rather than attack individuals. He talks about relationship-building as a civic necessity, not a naïve luxury. He shows signs of genuine self-reflection — acknowledging mistakes publicly and trying to learn from them, getting specific in ways that feel real rather than managed.

In a time when so many politicians feel like walking trauma responses, that alone is a powerful and far too rare form of leadership. It communicates something many Americans are starving for: adulthood.

It also interrupts the contagion.

A leader who stays grounded makes it easier for others to stay grounded. A leader who refuses to mock and dehumanize makes it harder for the crowd to justify doing so. A leader who can hold tension without escalating it shows people that conflict does not have to mean collapse.

This is not softness. It is capacity — and ultimately a more durable kind of power.

I want to be careful here. I don’t know Talarico’s inner world. I can’t vouch for his deepest character. He undoubtedly has his own flaws. And he is not the only politician working to bring higher-minded values to the forefront (Marianne Williamson another good example). But he is a far too rare bird in politics, and rarer still at his level of visibility.

What We’re Really Voting For

There’s a version of this argument that says: voters should be smarter, more policy-literate, more rational. And sure, in an ideal world... But that framing misses something essential about what it means to be human.

We are social creatures whose nervous systems were built for small tribes and clear hierarchies. We look to our leaders not just for ideas but for cues about whether the world is safe, whether things are going to be okay, whether we are going to be okay. We look for healthy modeling. We always have. The question is whether we’re going to consciously work with that reality or keep pretending it doesn’t exist.

Here’s my theory: if more leaders modeled regulation, love, restraint, and accountability, our politics would not simply become nicer. It would become far more functional. People would be more able to listen. More able to tolerate difference. More able to update their beliefs without feeling humiliated. More able to stay in relationship while still advocating fiercely for what they believe.

In other words, we could begin to exit the trauma loop.

We cannot heal a traumatized society solely through better policy, though policy matters enormously. We also have to address the culture’s emotional operating system. And leadership is one of the fastest ways a society learns what is normal — what is possible — what it’s allowed to feel and do and become.

If we want a different political order — and I believe most people, across the spectrum, are hungry for one — then part of what we need to do is recognize and elevate the leaders who have done some personal work. Who aren’t playing the gotcha demonization game. Who can be a steady presence under pressure. Who aren’t just performing values but actually practicing them. Who make us feel, in our bodies, like things might be okay.

James Talarico seems to be one of those people. There will hopefully continue to be a growing chorus of others. The work, for all of us, is learning to recognize what we’re looking for — and supporting it when it shows up. The system, of course, doesn’t make this easy — gerrymandering, donor capture, party corruption, an outrage-driven media, etc. all select for exactly the opposite. Which is why recognizing and actively supporting this kind of leadership, when it appears, matters more than ever.

The future depends, in no small part, on whether we keep multiplying dysregulation or finally decide to multiply the leaders who can model something better. That might be one of the most important political acts available to us — if we can find more of them.

Have thoughts on this? I’d love to hear who else you see modeling this kind of leadership — locally, nationally, anywhere.

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Matthew Albracht is the Board Chair of The Peace Alliance (www.peacealliance.org), a U.S. based NGO which advocates for domestic and international peacebuilding priorities. His writings have appeared on CNN, Salon, HuffPost and other outlets.

His Substack writings explore how we heal—from the inside out and the bottom up—personally, politically, and culturally—with a particular focus on the intersections between them all. Weaving together politics, psychology, and personal growth, grounded in systems thinking and trauma-awareness.

Follow Matthew on: Instagram, Twitter, Facebook and Tik Tok

We are living through a moment when the language of peace is being used more loudly than ever, even as the conditions for peace are being steadily dismantled.

From domestic turmoil to ramped up international military engagements, we continue to hear proclamations of being peacemakers from an administration whose actions tell a different story.

The President has expressed his desire for the Nobel Peace Prize so openly that he accepted the medal from this year’s actual recipient. His administration first took over, then tried to shut down, and finally renamed the U.S. Institute of Peace, placing his own name on the building. Yet these symbolic gestures stand in stark contrast to policies coming out of this administration that too often create fear rather than safety, division rather than unity.

For those of us who have spent years studying and advocating for genuine peacebuilding, this dissonance is profound. Peace is not a brand. It is a practice—one that requires restraint, accountability, and the protection of human dignity, especially when it’s difficult.

What We’re Witnessing

Domestically, millions of families—including those with legal status—live in daily fear that they or loved ones could be detained, deported or harmed. These are parents, children, siblings, spouses. Hardworking people who wake up wondering if their family will still be intact by evening. When communities feel hunted rather than protected, trust collapses and trauma spreads. This is sowing terror in everyday life, not the foundation of a peaceful society. (Despite repeated claims to the contrary, these do not primarily seem to be violent criminals targeted, at least not of late.)

And for those who are justly standing up for their fellow human beings through nonviolent protest, fear now extends to their own safety. Yesterday, another peaceful protester was killed during an immigration enforcement operation in Minneapolis, further deepening already inflamed tensions across our nation. When people risk their lives simply to call for dignity and restraint, which is the vast majority of people stepping up, something fundamental has broken in our understanding of peace.

Internationally, the pattern continues. As David Brooks noted in the New York Times, the U.S. carried out or contributed to 622 overseas bombing missions in 2025 alone. The administration unilaterally invaded Venezuela. We’ve seen repeated threats to invade Colombia, Cuba and some of our, for generations, very closest European allies through threats to invade and take over Greenland. Even our closest neighbor, Canada, is in the crosshairs—recently removed from the President’s ‘Board of Peace,’ whatever that may be.

None of this creates stability. It rewrites norms around sovereignty and force in ways that invite miscalculation and retaliation.

And then there’s climate change—which the administration has largely abandoned through withdrawal from the international climate accords. Climate disruption is not separate from peace; it is one of the most powerful drivers of displacement, resource conflict, and instability we will face. Ignoring it—even accelerating it—is the opposite of peacebuilding.

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Our Path Forward

Sometimes history presents us with moments so clarifying that they call us to step beyond our comfort zones and into our highest values. This is one of those moments.

We can watch the word “peace” become hollow, used to mask coercion and fear. Or we can insist—through our voices, our choices, our solidarity—that peace means something real:

• Safety built on justice, not force

• Communities where families can live without terror

• Leadership that de-escalates rather than inflames

• A world where human dignity is protected, not performed

As painful as this moment can feel, please stay awake and engaged. Our communities need us. Our neighbors need us. The work of peace has never been more urgent—or needed.

Matthew Albracht is the Board Chair of The Peace Alliance (www.peacealliance.org), a U.S. based NGO which advocates for domestic and international peacebuilding priorities. His writings have appeared on CNN, Salon, HuffPost and other outlets.

His Substack writings explore how we heal—from the inside out and the bottom up—personally, politically, and culturally—with a particular focus on the intersections between them all. Weaving together politics, psychology, and personal growth, grounded in systems thinking and trauma-awareness.

Follow Matthew on: Instagram, Twitter, Facebook and Tik Tok

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I wanted to speak to you directly about the experience behind that piece — the moment in my college astronomy class that shifted something in me, and how cosmic perspective continues to shape the way I understand meaning, connection, and daily life.

If you enjoyed the essay, I think this reflection will deepen it. Thanks for being here. Full article can be found here:

One of the most profound moments of my life happened in a college astronomy class. I still remember sitting there as my professor tried to give us a sense of the true scale of the cosmos. I’d never heard anything like it. It rearranged something in me—in how I see my life.

He began by explaining that our solar system is modest in size (our star, the Sun), and that the Milky Way—our cosmic home—is also a fairly average galaxy. Average, and yet it holds more than 100 billion stars, each with their own potential solar systems. That alone was staggering.

Then he went further: the observable universe contains more than 100 billion galaxies. Likely hundreds of trillions (or even quadrillions) of stars scattered across unfathomable distances. Whoa. Hearing the surprisingly vast scale of it all left me with a wondrous sense of both awe and humility at how much life and possibility might be out there. The idea that Earth could be the only place with life suddenly felt almost impossible (and indeed, the odds are infinitesimally small that we are all there is).

But it wasn’t the numbers that moved me most. It was the sense of profound interconnectedness—an intimate belonging inside the whole of all creation. Instead of feeling small, I actually felt held inside a much larger story of creation, of an abundantly powerful, creative and contributive cosmos.

Years later, I came across a quote from Deepak Chopra that brought that feeling back:

“In just the last three weeks, a quadrillion atoms have gone through your body that have gone through the body of every other species on this planet. The atoms in your fingernails could have come from one galaxy, and the atoms in your nose, the same carbon, could have come from another galaxy.
You are the total universe, recycling at this moment, as this body, which is constantly and ever, never the same.
…Your moods, your emotions, your thoughts, your relationships are affecting this holistic system that is at the same time mind, brain, epigenome, genome, microbiome—the whole of your biology and the totality of the Universe.”

Is every detail in that quote scientifically precise? Not exactly. But it is directionally true, and it expands the imagination in a way that science and spirituality both invite us to do. The atoms in our bodies are literally stardust, forged in ancient stars that lived and died long before Earth existed. We carry that history inside us.

There’s something deeply comforting about that. When I let myself really take it in, I feel less alone. I feel part of a living, breathing universe that has been creating, recycling, and reinventing itself for billions of years. I feel connected not just in spirit, but in literal substance.

If all of this is true—if we really are made of stardust—then we are part of a much larger unfolding story. A story that began long before any of us arrived. A story the universe has been telling for billions of years through fire, gravity, atoms, life, consciousness, and the steady arc of creation.

And yet, I (like so many of us) can get so caught in the smallest details of daily life, pulled into stress, anxieties, the obsessive micro-moments that make us forget about the vastness of this creative life-force. It’s so human. But I often wonder: what would shift if we let our hearts and minds widen to this phenomenon?

What if we allowed some of that fiery creative energy—the same energy that forges stars—to move through us? What if the vastness that built galaxies could help us breathe more spaciously into the frustrations and complexities of a single day?

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Life can feel overwhelming. But what if, alongside the overwhelm, we also remembered the inheritance inside our cells: the vastness, the luminosity, the stardust that is literally our lifeblood? What might become possible then?

Maybe we’d find just a little more grace in the seemingly mundane. Maybe we’d meet our challenges with a wider lens. Maybe we’d begin to live lives that feel aligned with the larger story we belong to—lives spacious enough, imaginative enough, courageous enough to hold our biggest dreams.

Whatever our differences, we are all made of the same ancient material. Even the space between us is not empty; it is filled with fields and forces that connect us in ways we’re only beginning to understand. We are not separate.

If we truly held the reality of our interconnectedness—across time, across species, across galaxies—how might we treat and care for each other? How might we care for our own planet? Would we soften our sense of separateness? Would we allow more tenderness, more curiosity, more love?

Knowing that stardust is literally pulsing through my body has changed the way I see myself in this world. It has strengthened my faith in something larger than me. It has deepened my trust in the forces—mysterious, elegant, creative—that shaped this vast and shimmering cosmos.

Mostly, it leaves me grateful. Grateful to be part of something so ancient, so alive, and so beautifully interconnected.

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Matthew Albracht is the Board Chair of The Peace Alliance (www.peacealliance.org), a U.S. based NGO which advocates for domestic and international peacebuilding priorities. His writings have appeared on CNN, Salon, HuffPost and other outlets.

His Substack writings explore how we heal—from the inside out and the bottom up—personally, politically, and culturally—with a particular focus on the intersections between them all. Weaving together politics, psychology, and personal growth, grounded in systems thinking and trauma-awareness.

Follow Matthew on: Instagram, Twitter, Facebook and Tik Tok

While government is often criticized as ineffective and corrupt, it ultimately reflects our collective humanity—both our struggles and aspirations. Too many rush to reject it outright, but simply tearing it down leads nowhere good. Instead, we must recognize government as an essential framework for organizing our national “family.” While there is much to value and defend, we must also confront government’s systemic challenges honestly—naming specific failures like corporate capture, the dismantling of our social safety net, and the concentration of wealth and power in the hands of a few. We must acknowledge how our own everyday imperfections—and even our deeper collective and individual traumatic wounds—are etched into its form. But we cannot accept messiness as an excuse for injustice. We must stand up to corruption, engage critically rather than cede our power, and commit to co-creating more compassionate, responsive, and humane systems of governance before democracy itself slips through our fingers.

Humans lived in small, tightly knit tribal communities for roughly 95% of our evolutionary history. Civilization as we commonly understand it has existed for a fraction of that time, and our modern form of society is even newer. In fact, global population growth has skyrocketed in recent decades. In 1974, just fifty years ago, the global population was half what it is today. We grew from 4 billion people—a staggering number even then—to today's 8 billion. Similarly, the United States had half its current population of 340 million just a few generations ago.

Our growth has been exponential, stretching the limits of what our systems—and we as people—can easily manage. This rapid expansion places an enormous burden on the structures we rely on to function together. We're essentially evolutionary infants, still learning how to live together at these unprecedented scales—nationally and globally. Managing that complexity is no small task.

If we want to live together meaningfully, we need structure. That’s where government comes in—like it or not. Outside of authoritarian regimes (which ours seems to be disturbingly teetering towards), a government of, by, and for the people remains our primary tool for organizing society. In the United States, as a democratic republic, we collectively set the stage for how we govern and care for one another.

Our National Family

I find it helpful to think of government in familial terms. We are a human family—and within the United States, a national one. Like any healthy, functional family, we need structures and supports to thrive. Government is the primary tool we use to organize ourselves—and ideally, to foster our capacity to live happy, meaningful lives. While it often falls short of its full potential, it remains the critical mechanism for achieving societal goals—and perhaps most importantly, for keeping us from descending into chaos.

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So why does government get such a bad rap from many factions? And right now, those in power seems to be trying to almost fully dismantle it. Disturbingly so.

Undeniably, there are many valid challenges we could list out—misallocated spending, corruption among politicians, excessive corporate lobbying that defines too much public policy, the outsized influence of dark money and wealthy donors, and bureaucratic inefficiency. Yet, consider our personal families or social circles: Are they free from overspending, poor decisions, and dysfunctional compromises? Hardly. The reason our government experiences problems is precisely because we as individuals, families, and communities carry similar struggles. An absolutely perfectly functioning government won't spontaneously appear when we ourselves remain imperfect and evolving. Sorry to call this out, but our government is ultimately a reflection of us. Gulp.

We human beings are messy! To some significant degree, the reason our government has the problems that it has is because we have the personal and social problems we have. Naturally, it’s going to be messy too. Our governmental challenges—just like those in our individual lives—are a part of the human experience. Accepting this messiness as part of our growth and evolution is crucial. Resisting our inherent complexity prevents us from realistically embracing what is possible and working constructively within that framework. When we resist or deny our inherent complexity, or even worse, demonize it as many do with government, we lose the chance to honestly assess what’s possible—and what’s not. Only from that place of realistic acceptance can we begin the real work: showing up in healthy, sustainable ways to mend its course, instead of trying to tear the whole thing down, as some are doing now.

Just as I strive to grow in my own life—actively working to be a better person, family member, and community member—we must collectively strive to improve how our government functions. How much does the average person genuinely engage in civic life? Beyond merely voting, how deeply do we educate ourselves about government operations, exploring beyond quick soundbites and biased media designed to provoke outrage on cable news, social media, talk radio or podcasts? True improvement demands deep engagement and active participation—and acceptance that we need strong governmental structures to hold and guide us in healthy ways.

At its core, the challenge of living well together—at this scale—is one of the most meaningful callings of our time. We need intelligent, compassionate, cohesive organizing systems to support this purpose. Government, ideally, mirrors a healthy family structure at a national scale. Rejecting it outright risks a toxic denial of ourselves, of our interconnectedness, a rejection born perhaps from personal or collective trauma and mistrust. The discomfort and messiness we experience are natural parts of this growth.

Demonizing Government, Damaging Ourselves

Yet, constantly demonizing government can inadvertently become a form of self-condemnation. In the U.S., the hyper-individualistic “everyone-for-themselves” mentality often stands at odds with meaningful community and collective well-being. Why are many Americans desperate to be left alone, even resisting helpful support? Perhaps for many it is because beneath this fierce independence lies unaddressed pain, rage, and trauma accumulated from a lifetime of feeling let down, misunderstood, or betrayed by authorities—be it family, institutions, or the government itself. When supportive relationships feel foreign or unsafe, effective governance and genuine community can become frightening. Organizing structures are seen less as supportive guides and more as threats to wounded autonomy. To truly heal, we may need to first acknowledge and confront the trauma underpinning our resistance to healthy government and communal living.

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While some critiques of government certainly hold truth, they are often exaggerated. Evidence of government functionality abounds. Advocates who champion greater local and state control and far less federal sometimes mask their intent to dismantle essential programs at all levels—programs vital for uplifting our communities and especially supporting our most vulnerable populations. (That isn’t to say there are not righteous arguments for expanded local and state control.)

Others argue for privatizing many government functions, but do we really want corporate America steering our societal ship? Profit-driven capitalism often prioritizes earnings over humanity, leaving far too many behind. And are they really that well-oiled themselves? Think practically: When contacting a bank or phone company for customer support, as just one small example, how often do we endure endless transfers, long waits, robotic hang-ups, and intense frustration—all symptoms of dysfunction at scale? This isn't just an argument about governmental incompetence; rather, it's evidence of challenges inherent in large-scale organization, something humanity hasn't evolutionarily mastered yet. Our collective learning curve remains steep, but getting there is essential.

Abandoning federal government at the scale many propose (and this administration is now working swiftly towards) would lead to chaos. Again, the grand human experiment of coexistence at current scales demands strong, compassionate structures to guide us. History repeatedly demonstrates that successful governance isn't about perfect, flawless systems; it's about resilient structures capable of growth, repair, and adaptation. That should be our aim. Not perfection.

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Dismantling Government Means Dismantling Ourselves—and Our Democracy

So yes, our government has dysfunctions. But the intensity of recent attacks, particularly under the Trump administration and DOGE decimation, exacerbates our collective problems rather than solving them. While frustrations with government toxicity are understandable, dismantling federal structures indiscriminately harms countless millions of our fellow citizens—not to mention the unsung heroes who quietly keep society’s essential services running. By dismantling government, we dismantle ourselves.

The honest path is to confront our shortcomings together and shape better, more compassionate systems. But honest confrontation means naming specific failures, not just accepting messiness. Let’s stand up to the underlying corruption of corporate control and bad actors misusing power. We can’t stand by, too often ignoring what’s happening even while understandably juggling our hyper-busy lives. We must stand up for justice, righteousness and the very pillars of democracy, at every possible turn—taking care of each other collectively as we would our own families.

In the 1980s, we took a sharp right turn from which we’ve never recovered. When we began to dismantle the social safety net, we left far too many without a lifeline. We’ve now allowed corporations to be considered persons, enabling them to railroad key pillars of democracy and drive us further toward a cliff. The rich became exponentially richer while the rest of us fell further behind, rapidly widening a gap that now threatens the very fabric of our society. People feel squeezed, desperate even. That breeds trouble—and we’re seeing it all around us.

Democracy itself could be slipping through our fingers right now. It’s been decades in the making, but recent years have quickened the pace to a level that cannot be ignored.

For those who hold disdain for government: what does simply wishing it away lead to? Allowing the few dozen billionaires who control most of our wealth to fully take the reins, perhaps alongside a authoritarian strongman who pretends at democracy? We must look more deeply at what’s before us and face it head-on, refusing to rely on those who lie and manipulate to maintain their hold on power. This holds true for both sides of the aisle as well as our mainstream, corporate-controlled media. We must think critically about the challenges before us and engage—not simply cede our power away. If government is us, then our task is to steward it: curb corruption, protect fair elections, invest in the safety net, and restore a culture of service.

Let’s approach government—and ourselves—with greater wisdom and compassion, honoring and working hard to maintain the necessary structures we must uphold to function together healthily. Government doesn’t have to be a bad word or negative concept. We can wholeheartedly claim it as a reflection of us and, from that perspective, really dig into creating something we can all be proud of.

Matthew Albracht is the former Executive Director and a Board Member of The Peace Alliance (www.peacealliance.org), a U.S. based NGO which advocates for domestic and international peacebuilding priorities. His writings have appeared on CNN, Salon, HuffPost and other outlets.

His Substack writings explore how we heal—from the inside out and the bottom up—personally, politically, and culturally—with a particular focus on the intersections between them all. Weaving together politics, psychology, and personal growth, grounded in systems thinking and trauma-awareness.

Follow Matthew on: Instagram, Twitter, Facebook and Tik Tok

WE ARE CREATORS.

We create every day, with every choice we make.

The world needs more of our bold and loving choices. Our communities need them. Our families and relationships need them. Our own hearts need them.

May our choices bless the whole of our lives—rooted in thoughtfulness, meditation, prayerfulness, and gentle care; grounded in love, connection, and deep service to the loving evolution of life on this planet.

May we invest, again and again, in a more peaceful society.

May we send out love in every conversation and every action.

May we choose courage over comfort, and repair over blame.

May we practice the small things that change everything: listening, releasing attachments that keep us stuck, opening up more often to joy & delight.

May we be a life force for all that is good, righteous, and uplifting in this great human experiment we are co-creating on this earth, and may it carry us toward deeper care for one another and for all life.

And, when we inevitably fall short, may we begin again with kindness—toward ourselves and toward others.

Today I am grateful to be here, to be learning, and to be creating.

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Matthew Albracht is the former Executive Director and a Board Member of The Peace Alliance (www.peacealliance.org), a U.S. based NGO which advocates for domestic and international peacebuilding priorities. His writings have appeared on CNN, Salon, HuffPost and other outlets.

His Substack writings explore how we heal—from the inside out and the bottom up—personally, politically, and culturally—with a particular focus on the intersections between them all. Weaving together politics, psychology, and personal growth, grounded in systems thinking and trauma-awareness.

Follow Matthew on: Instagram, Twitter, Facebook and Tik Tok

What's happening in our nation today feels quite like a dream. One that I wish I could shake myself awake from. But sadly, it’s all too real. I feel grave concern as democratic institutions and norms crumble before my eyes, and critical government agencies are severely gutted and even eliminated.

But what if things were going very differently right now? What if, instead of watching destruction, we were witnessing a radical strengthening of democracy and society, prioritizing healing instead of harming — beyond what we had ever dared to imagine, or maybe even knew was possible.

Healing Instead of Harming

Imagine…

A presidency that provides moral clarity in ways we haven’t seen before. Untethered to calcified norms and big-moneyed influence, it looks right into the heart and soul of the human experience.

It is tackling root causes, not just symptoms. Instead of gutting health and science agencies while paying lip service to "making America healthy again," we are implementing a Universal Coverage healthcare system focused on preventing chronic illness rather than just treating symptoms. Working to empower real, deep and lasting health on every front possible.

We challenge the corporatization of agriculture and Big Food that has created what amounts to a poisonous brew, undermining our health in critical ways. Instead of subsidizing Big Ag and unhealthy food crops, our policies prioritize regenerative farming, healthy food, clean water, and breathable air over the short-term profits of Big Food, Big Agriculture, and Big Chemical companies. Federal agencies like the FDA, EPA, and CDC, rather than being gutted, are untethered from corporate interests and empowered and funded like never before—charged with forging a future that truly nourishes us, body and soul, instead of trading our health to profit and corporate pressure.

Rather than working to dismantle the Department of Education and govern through bans—on books, on ideas, on the very act of thinking critically—we are expanding education to nurture students’ intellectual, cultural, emotional, and psychological horizons. Schools that teach not just facts, but social and emotional learning that builds whole human beings, helping to transform the scourge of bullying and the corrosive effects of toxic social media that undermine real connection and community.

Instead of mass roundups striking fear into millions of hearts and sowing economic chaos, imagine bipartisan immigration reform signed into law—strengthening our borders while creating a clear, ethical, and timely path to citizenship for millions of hardworking people who are critical to our national infrastructure and communities. Imagine a leader who recognized immigrants as community members and contributors, not scapegoats, and who reminded us that dehumanization is always the first step toward atrocity—whether directed at immigrants, LGBTQ+ people, racial and religious minorities, or anyone treated as “other” instead of as part of the human family.

Instead of doubling down on our newly renamed “Department of War” and on cruel, ineffective domestic “justice” systems, we have established a Department of Peace to forge a new way forward. This agency coordinates dialogue, mediation, economic and social development, restorative justice, public health approaches to violence prevention, and trauma-informed systems of care. Real investment in peace”building,” rather than endlessly and ineffectively trying to suppress conflict and violence.

More broadly, governance itself takes a wholistic turn—developing our society through: preventative healthcare focused on lasting wellness; robust mental health supports; whole-person education systems; safe and nurturing communities; healing-focused justice systems; and international peacebuilding. We are working to bring true repair to what has been broken, implementing policies that serve the needs of people rather than the outsized power of the few. On these and so many other fronts, the aim is nothing less than a just, sustainable, and healthy nation and world.

A Different Vision of Leadership

This healing approach would require fundamental changes to how we maintain and exercise power itself.

Imagine a president working to fortify democratic stability rather than tear it down. Someone pushing for a constitutional amendment to overturn Citizens United, among other critical measures, to secure a thriving democratic society. Someone willing to finally rein in our increasingly concentrated cohort of corporate/mega wealthy overlords, instead of empowering them further.

Someone who stood firmly against the neoliberal tide—the whole corrosive system of deregulation, privatization, corporate capture, corporate lobbyists acting as policy-makers, and the quarterly-profit-obsessed market straightjacket that treats money as supreme over human values—that has hollowed out democracy's promises over the decades. And someone who resisted the newer authoritarian impulse to silence dissent and punish free expression, which threatens to shatter what remains.

Rather than economic chaos driven by reckless executive orders and wildly erratic tariffs, we see strategic investments in policies that lift everyone up—securing funding for the foundations of a flourishing economy and culture: universal childcare, debt-free higher education, and renewable energy jobs that sustain both our people and our planet.

The Dream and the Reality

This didn’t have to be an imagination, it could have been reality. This administration could have been led by a President Marianne Williamson. That was actually her Democratic Presidential campaign platform, her vision, what she believed in with every fiber of her being and would have worked for.

What inspired me to write this whole piece was that I had an actual (and much sweeter) dream recently. In it, Marianne pulled through as the Dem candidate after Biden had come to his senses and withdrawn earlier in the primary. She won the primary and then handily defeated Trump. In my dream, I didn’t feel the slightest bit surprised, as she was speaking to something much deeper in the human experience and needs, and that resonated with so many people who are tired of all the political games (and lies).

In my dream, I and others were helping her assemble an extraordinary, leading-edge cabinet. She was moving boldly forward on so many fronts, everything described above and much more — visionary shifts in how we organize society so that it serves everyone, heals what's broken, and repairs what's been ignored. I could viscerally feel the magic of what was happening in my bones. It felt inspiring, sweet and true.

When I woke from the dream that morning, into our current reality, the sweetness of course quickly evaporated. "Disheartened" doesn't begin to capture how I felt. I've worked with Marianne for more than twenty-five years and served as a volunteer policy advisor on both her presidential campaigns. So when I dream of her winning, it isn't just idle fantasy — it's the sadness of knowing how much her vision could have offered, and how thoroughly it was mocked, dismissed, and iced out by the establishment. While she was dismissed by many as unqualified, what should be obvious now is that she had the most important qualification of all: the prescience to see what was coming, and the courage to name what would be required to prevent it.

She saw what so many in the establishment and media could not — or refused to — see: that Biden represented the same corporate-controlled politics people were exhausted by, and that Democrats weren't speaking to those frustrations or acting on them. And she warned that Trump had gained not just political traction but a psycho-spiritual hold on millions of Americans. She knew his message, however false, resonated with people's fears and frustrations. She saw it clearly, long before most were willing to admit his force hadn't waned in comparison to the milquetoast candidacies of Biden (and later Harris).

Marianne often quotes Franklin Roosevelt, highlighting three lessons we would do well to remember today. First, his insistence that we need not fear fascism as long as democracy delivers on its promises — promises like universal healthcare and tuition-free higher education, which she warned we had failed to fulfill. Second, his reminder that “a necessitous man is not a free man” — a truth made vivid in our current age of deepening inequality and inequity. And third, his conviction that the most important job of the presidency is not administrative, but moral leadership itself. Marianne embodied that principle in ways that could have moved the needle had she not been sidelined.

The Devastating Consequence of Closed Eyes

We are living in an unstable moment, where democratic pillars are being actively dismantled before our eyes. We got what we asked for—not because most people imagined exactly this, but because too many eyes were closed, too many people weren't seeing clearly, despite very reasonable frustrations and fears.

This includes not just voters, but also those in the political and media establishment who consistently ignore and sideline figures like Marianne (or Bernie Sanders, etc.). Marianne has been a strong moral voice not only against the tide of fascism brewing, but in naming why it is rising. She has spoken to root causes when others papered over them.

The incrementalism Democrats have peddled for far too long has left us unable to deliver on the promises of our nation. We need more leaders on the left who can speak with vision and purpose, who are bold enough to stand up and work for what is fundamental. Politics isn’t just policy; it’s purpose, meaning, belonging, identity. It’s a sense of real community. While the right seizes on that space — however falsely — Democrats are still fumbling, too often content to “fight back” without offering a larger story and vision for where we’re going—or pandering to the darker angels of our nature.

Yes, we must resist the erosion of democracy. But resistance alone is not enough. We have to offer a vision rooted both in the pragmatic needs of people’s daily lives and in their deeper longings.

The Democratic Party needs to wake up to something much deeper that’s happening. They need to stop playing the old games, stop icing out progressive voices, stop tinkering at the edges, and work for fundamental change — lead towards real progress. Because without that, the old order will keep crumbling, and the false prophets will keep rising. The question is: will we continue down this path with future candidates, or will we finally learn?

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Matthew Albracht is the former Executive Director and a Board Member of The Peace Alliance (www.peacealliance.org), a U.S. based NGO which advocates for domestic and international peacebuilding priorities. His writings have appeared on CNN, Salon, HuffPost and other outlets.

His Substack writings explore how we heal—from the inside out and the bottom up—personally, politically, and culturally—with a particular focus on the intersections between them all. Weaving together politics, psychology, and personal growth, grounded in systems thinking and trauma-awareness.

Follow Matthew on: Instagram, Twitter, Facebook and Tik Tok

Truthfully, I sought out those conversations at the time not only to share their meaningful stories but because I needed their courage myself. That season of life felt magical at times, but also deeply confusing and uncertain. I longed for direction and purpose, but feared I might not find it. Listening to others who were blazing their own paths helped me better imagine and steer my own.

Rereading this book introduction now, I see how universal that searching is—it carries both the beauty of longing and the weight of fear. Many young adults go through it; it's part of stepping into adulthood. And yet, at 52, I’m struck by how much of that yearning still lingers — and how much, perhaps unfortunately, has faded. Some of the questions remain. (I STILL wonder what I'm supposed to be doing with my life sometimes, ha!) Maybe that's the point. The yearning itself is sacred; it’s a life-blood of creativity and creation; it's what can keep us moving, connected to what wants to be most alive in us.

While my life sure was messy back then, I had a drive towards discovery that was deeply enlivening. Returning to these words has lit a bit of a spark under me again. They remind me where the vital energy lies—in wonder, in the profound curiosity and exploration that is the pulse of life, igniting our way forward. When we remain attuned to it, humbly within its grace, it carries us. In this moment, I want to lean into that space more fully, to reinvoke that open-hearted yearning for life as a grand adventure. I may be getting older, but that hunger still has the power to inspire me — and perhaps it can inspire you too.

Here’s what that wide-eyed “kid” wrote, Texas dust still metaphorically on his shoes and stars still in his eyes:

“I grew up on a farm on the high plains of Texas. One of my most vivid memories is of the Texas skyline. The skies in Texas are big—so vast, so open. You can gaze across the rolling plains and literally see for miles. Physically, there was nothing in the way, nothing between myself and the sky. There were no skyscrapers hovering over, the air was crystal clear, there were no mountains or trees to block its path, just that great big blue sky displaying itself in all its glory.

The sky was often full of enormous, magnificently sculpted clouds. Sunsets offered a blazing display of pink and orange—piercing out like daggers into the white of the clouds and the surrounding blue. It was as if the sun were proudly calling out, one last time, before being swallowed up by the dark of the night sky. A beautiful and profound sight to behold.

As night came, I remember times when I would sit on the hood of my parent’s big black truck, looking up into the star-filled sky. It was all so incredible. There is nothing like the night-time sky in the country, away from cities that stain the darkness with man-made light, keeping the true grandeur out of sight. Right in front of my eyes were tens of thousands of tiny, sparkling little beacons of light. They were mezmerizing. It was as if they were casting a spell, trying to keep me from ever leaving their gaze upon me. Sitting there, looking up at all those stars, gave me such a sense that in the greater scheme of the cosmos, there was so much more going on than just what was happening on our little Earth or in my little life.

Then, in the morning, as the nighttime came to an end, the sun was slowly birthed back out from the dark. First, just peeking out from the shadow, cracking through the surface, then erupting with as much ferocity as it had been swallowed the night before. I was always very aware of this daily rhythm, all of it, such an awe-inspiring display.

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As I reflect back upon my memories of the Texas sky, and how vividly they still stick out in my mind, I think at that time I felt my life very small in comparison- somewhat inadequate in contrast to the grandeur that was all around me. I didn’t just feel small standing against the sky, but small in my own heart. I wanted to live big—to love big. I wanted each moment of my life to be full of as much adventure, joy, love and peace of mind as a giant cloud must have felt as it floated across the crisp blue sky. I wanted to live with as much ferocity and creativity as the sunset. I wanted to be reborn again, everyday, like the rising sun. I wanted, in all ways, to feel passionate about my life. I wanted to stop living so meekly and quietly—as I certainly was at the time. I wanted to start living out loud, in all my glory. I longed for it. I prayed for it. I had faith in it—even when nothing but the dreams in my heart seemed to indicate it would ever come to pass.

As I grew from my teen years into a young adult, my life became an inner journey in search of what I was feeling deep inside, that calling for something greater, more meaningful than anything the world as I knew it seemed to offer me. Even though I was never really sure specifically what it was I was looking for, I knew I had to create a life that could match my dreams, that could bring some sense into all that I longed for.

The hardest part of this path of self-discovery that I was moving onto was that I didn’t exactly know where to begin, what to do with all the questions I had about the meaning of life and my place in it. Looking back, I wonder why no one had ever told me that the questions I had been living with, the longings I’d always felt, might be normal. Why weren’t there people, social support, anything out there—readily available to help me figure life out as I transitioned from a child into an adult out into an overwhelming world? We make bombs that can destroy the world in a day, but to get a good piece of advice? Pretty hard to find... I knew there must be something more meaningful and inspiring out there than this individualistic, often meaningless, overly materialistic world that I found myself far too often surrounded by.

I knew there must be others out there in search of something similar to what I was looking for, dealing with similar questions to the ones that I had—I hoped there were people who had found some answers. There had to be folks out there who had a better grasp on what had meaning in life, people who were deeply excited about being alive, who wanted to make a difference in the world. I wanted to find some of them, to learn from some of them. So at age 21, at the heart of my transition into adulthood, I hit the highway, leaving the farm, the comfort of my family and friends— headed on a journey to see if I could find my place in the world.

Along the way, I met many amazing people, learned many profound lessons about life, love, faith and so much more. Lessons that helped me learn more about what it meant for me to be an adult, a human being, living in this world.

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Many of the folks I’ve met along my path in life have been people in my age group who seemed to be doing well with their transition into adulthood. So I decided to start talking with some of them for this book, taking down their stories of how they have been getting along in life. How they have learned to thrive… to follow their passions, their dreams. I’ve been talking to people in my generation who are pushing the boundaries and breaking the barriers of what life is supposed to be, instead embracing all that life can be.

These are people pushing the margins of comfort that keep so many others in our culture locked into restrictive boxes. These folks are sharing what they have done in the pursuit of their passions to live more rich and meaningful lives. They not only address what they think about their lives and the world, but share actual experiences of what has been working for them. They also discuss their challenges, their fears and their hopes for their lives and for the planet.

Over this past couple of years, I’ve learned much as I’ve been interviewing these inspiring folks. The process has certainly expanded my view of the world and infused me with strength to live my life more courageously. I started this project, in part, so that I could learn more deeply for myself some of the keys of what it takes to live a bold and meaningful life. It has been incredibly inspiring to discover that so many people in my generation are out there doing the things they are doing, trying to live life to its fullest, trying to build a better world. My greatest hope is that after reading their stories, you will be inspired to search even more deeply into the crucial questions in your own life and that these interviews will help you expand and grow- explore all the possibilities of what your life can be.

In her story later in this book, Hafsat Abiola says of her dreams for her life and the world:

“I’m hoping that this will be the time that we become fully connected and we take on the challenges that are before us with love and with integrity, try as much as possible to forge the new relationships, the new dynamics that can make a different way… to forge out of the air that is between us, all that is beautiful and possible.”

I hope that reading the stories in this book will help to bring a more loving and spirit-filled possibility alive in your life. There are so many of us out there exploring these questions, working to live invigorating, meaning-filled lives, it’s sometimes just hard to find us among all the accumulated muck in our culture.

One of my greatest surprise’s during this interview process has been that most of the people who are doing so well aren’t really much different than you or I. They just made daily choices to live a more meaningful life, to explore the questions; to live in the possibility, not the fear. They decided to live out loud. My deepest desire is that others might learn as much reading this book as I have from hearing the stories of these courageous and inspiring folk. I know I’ll be forever changed… and thank God for that.”

- Excerpted from Living Out Loud! Young Adults, Finding Our Purpose, Shaping a Better World by Matthew Albracht

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Matthew Albracht’s Substack writings explore how we heal—from the inside out and the bottom up—personally, politically, and culturally—with a particular focus on the intersections between them all. Weaving together politics, psychology, and personal growth, grounded in systems thinking and trauma-awareness.

He is the former Executive Director and a Board Member of The Peace Alliance (www.peacealliance.org), a U.S. based NGO which advocates for domestic and international peacebuilding priorities. His writings have appeared on CNN, Salon, HuffPost and other outlets.

Follow Matthew on: Instagram, Twitter, Facebook and Tik Tok

Singer-songwriter and actress Sara Bareilles recently gave a heartfelt and deeply moving commencement speech to UCLA’s Class of 2025. It wasn’t your typical feel-good graduation talk. Instead of tidy answers or easy inspiration, she offered something uncommonly honest and vulnerably wise: a call to meet uncertainty with radical curiosity and courage—a message for anyone standing at the edge of what’s known, trying to stay human in a fractured world.

That message hit home for me—particularly given the state of our nation and world.

Sara started by sharing a story about one of her dearest friends, Broadway actor Gavin Creel, who sadly passed away last year. In what they didn’t know would be the final year of his life, Gavin tattooed the word both on his wrist—a personal mantra drawn from a poem he found on a greeting card:

“Everything is both wonderful and terrible, boring and exciting.
It’s okay that it’s both obvious and hidden, simple and complicated.
What a relief that everything can be both—
Light and dark, celebratory and melancholy.”

At first, Sara admitted she didn’t love the tattoo. But watching Gavin live out its meaning changed her mind. He modeled something radical in a culture obsessed with certainty: the art of holding complexity. She went on to say:

“Two things can be true at the same time. In fact, they often are.
More nuance, everywhere.”

In a world addicted to black-and-white thinking, where is nuance truly exalted and honored? Most of us live our lives not in the absolutes, but in the messy gray—in the contradictions, the doubts, the unknowns and the in-betweens. And if we’re being honest, it’s in that gray space where most of our real growth happens.

The Fire of Becoming

Actually, life is more than black or white—or even gray. It’s technicolor. Multilayered. Full of contradiction and contrast. To be alive is to navigate the full spectrum: discomfort, uncertainty, heartbreak, beauty, and joy—sometimes all in the same breath!

And when we’re willing to take it all in—rather than dodge it—it can actually be quite wondrous.

The dodging part has certainly played out in my own life. Fear and anxiety have led the way more times than I’d like to admit. I’ve avoided risks, stayed quiet, stepped out of the game, convinced I couldn’t handle the fire of engagement. But that same fire—that discomfort—is often the very thing that has fueled my transformation and growth. It helped me blossom.

Fire is creation. It’s the birth of stars, of new worlds, of possibility. The fiery explosion that created our galaxy is literally what gave birth to the matter that makes-up our cells, and our selves. That explosive, generative force is alive in each of us. But it can feel overwhelming and even scary—and when it does, many of us retreat. But as Sara aptly puts it, “fear is a fantastic indicator of a growth edge.”

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Curiosity as Liberation

There are so many places where we can feel stuck. Afraid to grow into the next version of ourselves, because growth means letting go of what we’ve known. Of what can feel comfortable. And that can feel scary. But to become truly alive and thrive, we have to step into the fire of the unknown.

For me, learning to distinguish between real risk and echoes of childhood fear has been life-changing. Internal Family Systems (IFS) and other trauma-informed frameworks have helped me unpack the protective parts of myself—those inner voices that once kept me safe when I was much younger, but now can hold me back.

Curiosity and open-mindedness are often the antidote to those old patterns. They don’t demand that I have the answers. They just ask me to keep bravely searching and asking exploratory questions.

As I age, I find myself taking that leap more often. Leaning into discomfort. Trusting that what I don’t yet know might hold something vital. Choosing growth over comfort. Truth with a capitol “T” over my “certainties” that I already know. It’s not always easy, and I fumble around a lot—but it’s all so much more alive.

As Sara sings about your own inner voice in her song “Little Voice” (one of my favorites of hers),

“It’s just a little voice, and if you’re listening,
Sometimes a little voice can say the biggest things.”

We have to listen for it.

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Where Do We Learn Together?

At the start of her speech, Sara spoke with remarkable honesty about the world we’re all living in right now. She acknowledged how hard it is to hold both love for the world and deep concern for where we’re headed. Despite her admiration for humanity’s potential, she admitted she’s struggling—grappling with fear, frustration, and a kind of crisis of faith in humanity.

She talked about being "deeply concerned for us—for all of us,” and how exhausting it is to witness so much cruelty, misinformation, and oversimplified outrage. The barrage of “self-righteous hot takes” and growing lack of empathy, she said, felt like a kind of emotional contagion—and at times, she found herself catching it too.

Sara spoke openly about her own recent crisis of faith—not in a higher power, but in humanity itself. It’s not the kind of thing people usually bring to a graduation podium, but that was the power of her speech: it was raw and real. And it offered a kind of solidarity in uncertainty.

“What can I say? We live on the edge,” she said. “It made me wonder if this crisis of faith is here to teach me something—that we might learn together in real time.”

That question stuck with me: What if the crisis itself is the teacher? What if the overwhelm so many of us are feeling about the state of the world isn’t something to avoid, but something to get deeply curious about? To get open-minded about.

When we silo ourselves in certainty and resist seeing things anew, we shut down the very possibilities that could lead to healing and transformation. But when we stay open—when we stay curious—we open up to the conditions for real change.

What is it we are individually and collectively missing in this great shared human story right now?

What new perspective—one that might scare us, or simply be unfamiliar—could be the very thing that saves us?

We can’t know unless we stay deeply, soulfully curious. Unless we remain open to what we haven’t yet seen. Because this world—our shared, chaotic, beautiful world—needs us awake and alive. And open. Especially right now.

“You Are Falling, Yes—But You Are Also Flying”

Sara closed her speech with a poetic and daring invitation:

“What if we can stay curious instead of certain?
For me, this practice opens a kind of parachute.
It opens the aperture of your perspective to slow down enough to see that you are falling, yes—but you are also flying.
We all are.”

She quoted poet Andrea Gibson:

“Someday we will dare to trade good for true.”

And she added something both achingly honest and bold:

“My crisis of faith in humanity might just be an invitation. An invitation to stay curious. To remember that I am humanity too. And I think to love the world—to love this exact world, with its chaos and cruelty and beauty and brilliance—is to pack your parachute, find the edge, and jump.”

And off we go, into the great unknown… Thanks Sara.

P.S. If you haven’t already, do yourself a favor and listen to her hauntingly beautiful version of Elton John’s Goodbye Yellow Brick Road. I’m a huge and longtime fan, and that one gives me chills every time! One amongst many great songs in her catalogue.

Matthew Albracht is the former Executive Director and a Board Member of The Peace Alliance (www.peacealliance.org), a U.S. based NGO which advocates for domestic and international peacebuilding priorities. His writings have appeared on CNN, Salon, HuffPost and other outlets.

His Substack writings explore how we heal—from the inside out and the bottom up—personally, politically, and culturally—with a particular focus on the intersections between them all. Weaving together politics, psychology, and personal growth, grounded in systems thinking and trauma-awareness.

Follow Matthew on: Instagram, Twitter, Facebook and Tik Tok

This past year, I discovered a band that instantly became one of the most exciting musical finds I’ve had in a long while. The first time I heard The Midnight, I was swept into a soundscape where the past, present, and future collapsed into one luminous, electric, dreamy vision. While rooted in what’s often called “synthwave” and retro ’80s tones—their sound isn’t mere nostalgia, it’s something more profound. They bridge the beautiful qualities of a bygone musical era—set against a time marked by more cultural repression and less emotional sophistication—with the wisdom of today, both sonically and psychologically. In doing so, they create not just music, but, at least for me, an unexpected but wholly welcome space to reprocess that era for myself and likely others who lived through that time and still carry a few scars.

As someone who came of age in the '80s, The Midnight’s music instantly transports me back to that decade's distinctive vibe: the neon glow, the longing, the electric feeling of possibility in the air. Yet simultaneously, it's thoroughly modern. Their electronic sound is as cutting-edge as anything in that space today, while also carrying the spirit of that time.

What moves me most is how alive their music feels. It pulses with heart, soul, intellectual creativity, and offers plenty of pure fun. I really appreciate how it can be simultaneously playful and philosophical—like a digital albatross carrying me back to my youth, but with an emotionally mature presence that belongs firmly in the present. While a lot of the synth heavy '80s songs of this ilk didn’t often carry much emotional or poetic heft, The Midnight's offerings carry far more complexity thanks to primary lyricist Tyler Lyle's emotional and philosophical depth.

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The Art of Retroactive Healing

For me, listening to The Midnight is like opening a time capsule to my childhood soundtrack, but instead of just fondly remembering a time gone by, there's a bit of a healing force that nourishes me for this stage of my life. Their songs reimagine some of the best parts of the '80s, with the depth and wisdom of the modern world and contemporary psychological evolution. Back then, this kind of pop music rarely held the kind of poetic introspection that anchors their work. The Midnight marries that old-school sound with modern reflections on love, loss, depression, and hope (and again, there is plenty of material that aims just to be playful).

What has been so profound for me, as someone who lived through this era and resonated with its sound, is the way that The Midnight has offered me a kind of retroactive rekindling of that time’s spirit. Some of the traumas I experienced back then stunted my ability to fully embrace the joyful buoyancy of the music. Diving into their catalog of music brings me back to the essence of that time of my life, but through wiser ears and a more grounded mind. It allows me not only to re-feel the joy I once missed to varying degrees, but also to open more deeply into the tenderness of that time. I think many of us can relate to the way music can reach into hidden places and shift us. I felt that kind of magic through music more often when I was younger, so it’s a gift to encounter it again so potently as an adult.

Even though their music is electronic, it doesn't feel cold. It's sultry and effervescent, yet also earthy and grounded. The soundscape can float me into galaxies while also digging into something eternal.

Their lyrics can strike at the deepest yearnings of the human heart. Take “Digital Dreams,” where the self is imagined as a machine, unable to fully feel—the production makes that metaphor visceral. You don’t just hear it, you feel it.

The band is made up of two members: Tim McEwan and Tyler Lyle. Tyler, the lead vocalist and lyricist, has a rich, warm voice that often seems to float effortlessly across their tracks. It fits perfectly for what they are doing. Tim very occasionally takes the lead on vocals as well (two songs)—and he’s so good at it that I’m surprised he hasn’t done more. Together, they share songwriting duties, with Tim layering in masterful and transformative production.

It’s one thing to use retro sounds—plenty of producers are doing that right now—but it’s another to make them feel so alive and contemporary, as though they belong exactly in this moment. That’s what The Midnight does. Strong melodies, intricate production, layered lyrics—it feels like the ’80s reborn for today, yet somehow also not the ’80s at all.

For me, this is more than music. It feels like a calling. The Midnight is creating something that points toward the eternal, something expansive and luminous that I can't quite name. I just know it's beautiful and transports me. And I know it's what the world needs more of—art that doesn't just entertain but transforms, that doesn't just recall the past but helps redeem it. At least it does for me.

In a time when so much feels fractured, The Midnight offers integration: of past and present, of electronic precision and human warmth, of nostalgic longing and mature wisdom. Their music reminds us that “we're never as lost or as found as we think we are”—and sometimes, that's exactly what we need to hear.

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FAVORITES PLAYLIST:

Whole Playlists on Spotify and Apple Music

1. Lost Boy - Apple Music - Spotify

2. Love is An Ocean - Apple Music - Spotify

3. Sunset - Apple Music - Spotify

4. Synthetic - Apple Music - Spotify

5. Crystalline - Apple Music - Spotify

6. Gloria - Apple Music - Spotify

7. Comet - Apple Music - Spotify

8. Shadows - Apple Music - Spotify

9. Digital Dreams - Apple Music - Spotify

10. America 2 - Apple Music - Spotify

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Matthew Albracht’s Substack writings explore how we heal—from the inside out and the bottom up—personally, culturally, politically—with a particular focus on the intersections between them all. Weaving together politics, psychology, and personal growth, grounded in systems thinking and trauma-awareness.

He is the former Executive Director and a Board Member of The Peace Alliance (www.peacealliance.org), a U.S. based NGO which advocates for domestic and international peacebuilding priorities. His writings have appeared on CNN, Salon, HuffPost and other outlets.

Follow Matthew on: Instagram, Twitter, Facebook and Tik Tok

In these charged and honestly frightening political times in America, it can be incredibly tempting to vilify those whose views clash with our own. The stakes feel impossibly high, and the divisions seem insurmountable. From political activists to everyday citizens—and especially among the pundit and political class—hate-filled demonization of our “opponents” has reached toxic levels. It’s a thick fog of dysfunction, and I don’t know many people who aren’t feeling overwhelmed by it.

That urge to continually vent frustration onto the “other side” can feel utterly irresistible. But when hate fills our hearts, there is no room left for anything else. Hate is an intense, consuming emotion that most of us cannot leap over to find common ground or genuine connection. Some trash opponents just to release pent-up frustration, or convince themselves it will help their cause—shock people into seeing the folly of their views or as a means to rally our allies. In reality, it does the opposite. By using personalized attacks and demeaning others, we push them deeper into defensive positions and reinforce the very divisions we claim to want to heal.

As a lifelong activist, I’ve been guilty of this, thinking my anger and vitriol might enroll others or jolt my “opponents” awake. Instead, I began to see that it was counterproductive—it simply built more division. That is not to say there aren’t people doing truly vile things. Calling out real injustice powerfully and forcefully is important. The danger arises when anger-fueled critique becomes our wholesale strategy: constantly demonizing or mocking everyone with whom we disagree. It weakens our ability to speak out when strong criticism is truly justified, and it creates a divide so wide we can never reach common ground. Dialogue stalls, disconnection compounds, and the walls between us rise higher. That toxic cycle can even prompt opponents to take wilder swings, driving us further down the path of entrenched polarization. This approach also alienates potential allies who value collaboration and constructive dialogue—and are exhausted by all the games.

What Lives Beneath the Rage

Don’t get me wrong, strong feelings—even rage—can be completely understandable, especially when confronting profound injustice. However, when anger is our primary and ongoing source of fuel, it burns hot and often peters out quickly, leaving quite a mess in its wake. Festering anger usually (though not always) masks deeper, more vulnerable emotions that haven’t been acknowledged. For instance, what might be lying beneath my anger in any given moment is heartbreak: care for humanity, a longing for genuine community that cares for one another, and a deep fear that we may never achieve it. I often feel heartbroken (along with a healthy dose of rage) by the suffering I see under terrible policy choices and by how far we’ve strayed from a vision of unity. I worry not only for myself, but for the millions who lack the resilience and resources I have.

I don’t deny or try to pretend away anger or rage when it justifiably arises, I just work hard not to live there full time. When I allow myself to tap into the more tender spaces—share authentic sadness or fear when that is what I’m really feeling—others are far more likely to hear me. Most people can connect with those feelings in a way they cannot with unfettered rage. If I approach someone and say, “I’m heartbroken and fear for what’s happening,” they are more likely to pause and hear me than if I barrell in yelling. Operating from a deeper place of vulnerability creates space for genuine conversation.

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Do We Really Have to Fight?

There is a pervasive idea that political engagement must be a constant battle, a fight. We watch political pundits lob bombs and insults at each other. Too many of us jump onto Twitter, cable news or podcasts, etc., and consume and/or contribute to the endless vitriol. But does it have to be that way? Can we not engage more respectfully, even with passion?

I grew up on a farm in Texas, where much of my family votes very differently than I do. Early on in my adulthood, I reveled in the fight—trying to win heated arguments felt like the point. That approach wore down our relationships and—honestly—my relationship with myself. The constant stress and disconnection took a toll I didn’t fully recognize until later.

Now I understand that it takes real commitment and emotional regulation to resist fighting fire with fire—or to stop igniting the fire myself in the first place. I’ve found much more peace since stepping back from constant political combat (though I’m still a work in progress on that front).

I do however strongly believe in the power of nonviolent resistance, now more than ever. Especially in the face of frightening anti-democratic movements. We can speak out and act vigorously against vile tactics without demonizing every person on the other side. This is different than the game too many are playing right now. Nonviolent resistance can not only affect real change, but the very nature of it can humanize the resistance—make it more compelling even.

The Distance Effect

When we stand face-to-face with someone, we generally treat each other with kindness and respect. We hold doors open, say please and express gratitude, we reach out a helping hand (without even asking how each other might vote!), we recognize each other's humanity. Not always, but often. Yet, something shifts when there's distance between us —whether in traffic, on social media, or in our political discourse. Behind every social and political position stands a real human being with fears, hopes, and experiences. But when they’re not right in front of us, it’s easy to forget that—and become vicious. Such a bizarre and destructive dynamic.

As I said, I still get worked up when I see injustice or hear views that deeply irritate me. I’ll curse, kvetch, feel genuine anger—that’s part of how I process it all at this stage of my emotional development. But experiencing those feelings does not mean I have to lash out or weaponize them. There is a crucial difference between privately processing our emotions and unleashing them as a public strategy. How we handle charged feelings makes all the difference.

A Different Way Forward

What if we brought the same face-to-face, humanizing energy to our political conversations? What if we remembered that even those we vehemently disagree with are fellow human beings navigating a complex world? This doesn’t mean abandoning our values or failing to stand up for what matters. It means advocating for our beliefs without dehumanizing others who see things differently—and accepting that lasting change rarely comes through toxic shame and attack. Instead, it comes through the hard work of building bridges and finding common ground.

I learned this lesson firsthand through my work at The Peace Alliance. Over the past 20 years we have been in operation, we often met with congressional offices to promote our peacebuilding agenda. One meeting—around the time of the Iraq war—stands out. We were speaking with Nancy Pelosi’s chief of staff, who came in guarded: arms crossed, not looking at us, and braced for confrontation. We proceeded anyway. We stayed kind, gracious, and articulate about our cause, leaning on nonviolent communication techniques we had been learning. Halfway through, he paused, he had started to loosen up and he shared something really illuminating. He admitted, “I came in expecting to be berated, because most people show up mad. I didn’t think I’d have a respectful, productive conversation.” From that moment, the dynamic changed. He even gave us more time than scheduled. That meeting showed us how building connection opens doors rather than immediately slamming them shut.

In a time of so much social and political intensity, when the temptation to demonize our “opponents” feels almost overwhelming, perhaps our greatest act of resistance is refusing to let hate win. Perhaps our most radical choice is to keep our hearts open, even when it’s hard—especially when it’s hard. The world we long for—a world of genuine community and connection—will not be built on hatred and rage. It will be built through the brave choice to see each other’s humanity across our deepest differences, to honor those differences, and to engage with respect and care, even when we are working towards different goals. That is more fertile ground. Refusing to vilify may be the most radical act of resistance left to us.

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Matthew Albracht is the former Executive Director and a Board Member of The Peace Alliance (www.peacealliance.org), a U.S. based NGO which advocates for domestic and international peacebuilding priorities. His writings have appeared on CNN, Salon, HuffPost and other outlets. Follow Matthew on: Instagram, Twitter, Facebook and Tik Tok

“One of the most profound shifts in my life has come from learning to relate to others from a more radically accepting place. This dynamic—of meeting people where they are, not where I wish they’d be—has taught me more about life, love, and growth than perhaps anything else. It reminds me that most people, like me, are doing the best they can with the tools they have. We all carry invisible burdens. When we’re given the room to show up as we are—without being squeezed into someone else’s ideal—something more sacred becomes possible. It’s the foundation for deeper intimacy and a more divine unfolding.”

We all know—most of us too well—that life can be full of uncomfortable circumstances and experiences we’d rather avoid. Much of my life has been spent trying way too hard to manage or control these outside experiences, especially those that threaten my sense of emotional comfort or perceived safety. I’ve invested so much energy dodging discomfort and pain—and too often the situations that bring it. But the truth is, that strategy eventually breaks down. It can be exhausting. And it ultimately doesn’t work.

Some level of pain and discomfort is inevitable in life. But when I’ve fought too hard against my emotional experience—trying to control external circumstances to feel more secure rather than accepting what is—it can feel like wrestling the winds of a hurricane sometimes. And all it really does is stir up more inner storms, often fueled by past challenges or traumas that I’m reliving in the present.

The price for all this resistance has been steep. I can really wear myself down. And over time—through age, experience, and a lot of inner work—I’ve come to see that much of the turbulence is actually self-generated. A cyclone of unmet expectations, emotional overextension, and the illusion that control would keep me safe. (Are you enjoying my little TED Talk on emotional weather patterns??? )

Relationship challenges relating to this dynamic have always been especially tricky. I’ve held so many unrealistic expectations: wishing a partner would always speak to me in soothing, non-confrontational tones (even while harshly judging myself when I fail to do the same—which, let’s be honest, is often); hoping a colleague would better recognize my contributions (or better yet, my brilliance!); or just wanting a random grocery store clerk to not be actively rude. The list goes on. (Tell me I’m not the only one who mentally relives and rewrites awkward stranger interactions three hours after the fact!)

Culturally, we’re often told we should raise our relational expectations—demand respect, stand up for our needs. And in many cases, there’s some validity there. But I’m learning it’s less about getting people to meet me where I am at, and more about finding resonance, creating healthy boundaries when needed, and most importantly, letting go of the fantasy that someone who isn’t capable (or willing) to meet me where I want them to will suddenly transform if I just “push” and “fight” harder. For me, that has only created more pain—for everyone involved.

For some years now, I’ve been working to embody a different way of holding life’s inevitable challenges. I’ve been learning to consciously cultivate a psychological and spiritual practice of radical acceptance. It's not about giving up or letting life or other people walk all over me. It’s about becoming more receptive, permeable even—especially in moments that trigger frustration, fear, or longing. (And bonus points if it’s poking at my very convincing illusion of control!)

One of the most profound shifts in my life has been learning to relate to others from this more grounded and open place. I’ve been practicing the art—because it is an art—of meeting people where they are, not where I wish they’d be. And when I manage to do that, even imperfectly, something softens. The tight grip of judgment loosens. The fog of unrealistic expectation and longing begins to lift. What emerges is a clearer presence—one that makes space for genuine connection, and even love, much more of a possibility.

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This shift hasn’t just shown up in theory—it’s transformed some of my most important relationships. Here’s one example… I tend to run a good bit co-dependent, and one of my default moves is to try and “fix” people or situations (mostly as a way to manage my own anxiety). One of my dear friends had been struggling for years in their relationships and in life. Whenever we talked, I’d offer some empathy, and I felt it—but I was mostly focused on giving advice, laying out strategies, suggesting what might help them shift things, or worse, how I thought they should or could feel. I meant well, but I wasn’t really listening. I definitely wasn’t radically accepting them.

One day, after there had been a couple months of space between us, they reached out and—bravely—shared how this dynamic had been impacting them. Something clicked. A lightbulb moment. I realized I’d been trying to change them, not be with them. That moment softened something in me. I stopped trying to “save” them—or at least, tried to stop (let’s be honest, these kinds of impulses still flare up with people in my life). Instead, I began offering deeper presence, more grounded empathy, and fewer fixes. And something in our relationship shifted. It felt more real. More spacious. Our bond deepened. In feeling more deeply heard, they were even better able to move on to other topics more swiftly.

In fact, to my surprise, again and again, I’ve watched something beautiful unfold when I release my story of who or how someone should be. When I give them space to simply be who they are, without pressure or demand, our connection has a chance to evolve organically. Sometimes it grows into something richer than I imagined. Sometimes it doesn’t. But even in the letting go, there is grace. There is freedom.

And it hasn’t just been about softening—it’s also meant being more honest with others. Not the sharp-edged kind, but the kind that makes room for truth and love to coexist.

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This dynamic—of loosening expectations and better accepting what arises—has taught me more about life, love, and growth than perhaps anything else. It reminds me that most people, like me, are doing the best they can with the tools they have. And when we’re given the room to show up as we are, without being squeezed into someone else’s ideal, something sacred can happen. A new kind of intimacy. A more divine unfolding. A deeper peace.

And the same goes for how I meet myself. That’s maybe the hardest of all. My inner critic is strong. (It can be quite loud, persistent, and has annoying opinions on just about everything!) The voices of “should” and “not enough” run deep. But I’ve noticed that the more I meet myself with compassion the more progress I make toward being my best and highest self. Judgment and shame pull me backward. Gentle, consistent self-acceptance moves me forward. Turns out shame and self-judgment aren’t great life coaches. Who knew?

I’ve found that transformation doesn’t come all at once. It’s not some epic turning point. It’s daily. It’s subtle. It’s a long game of rewiring my brain’s circuitry. Of unspooling. Of softening. Of learning to tend instead of tense.

“Radical acceptance” has become my big guidepost—one I work to stay attuned to, and one that makes more of that possible. It’s not about perfection—I dip in and out of it every day (sometimes very deeply out of it, yikes). But having that anchor means I can return to it. In moments of frustration, disappointment or heartbreak, I can pause, remind myself, “This is what’s happening. I’m safe. I have choice. I can allow. I can accept.” All this is aided by my regular grounding practices like conscious breath-work, yoga, prayerfulness, therapy (!) and working to stay mindfully present.

Sometimes acceptance does mean creating distance from people. Sometimes it means saying no. It can be tough—but when it’s grounded in clear-eyed compassion rather than resentment, judgment or blame, it opens the door to more authentic connection in my relationships. This has all been a game-changer for me. When I stop trying to control outcomes and instead root into presence, I create the conditions for something real to emerge.

And over time, I’ve seen that reflected back to me. The more I love and accept my loved ones where they’re at—which certainly includes sharing my own needs—the more they often meet me with the same. It can become a beautiful, nourishing circle, a web of mutual care.

I don’t expect to “arrive.” I don’t expect to nail this perfectly. But I know now that resistance drains me, while acceptance frees me. And I know I want to keep returning to that freedom, that fluidity and beautifully alive flow of life. Again and again.

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Dear Friends, I’m excited to share that I’m working on a new book, drawn from over 20 years of work in this field, tentatively titled How Do We Get Along? Exploring the Root Causes of Our Disconnection—and Transformational Approaches That Can Bring Us Together.

I believe the world urgently needs these kinds of efforts that will be covered, and I hope to make this book the best it can be—so it truly serves our collective healing and evolution. I’d love your feedback on this topic and the brief overview of the book below. Please feel free to share in the comments.

How Do We Get Along? Overview:

Why do humans have such a hard time getting along?

The evidence of our relational challenges is everywhere. From interpersonal struggles in our homes and workplaces, to conflict and violence in our schools and on our streets, to cultural and political polarization, the effects ripple across our lives and society. Relationships—when healthy—are our emotional lifeblood. They are critical for our survival and they help us thrive. But when wounded, they can be toxic, even dangerous.

We see this in everything from depression and loneliness to domestic violence, abuse, crime, and war. The consequences of unhealed relational wounds are personal and cultural—and more far-reaching than we often acknowledge. The good news? We’re not powerless. We actually have plenty of means to do better. We just haven’t invested in them anywhere near the scale that we should.

The question at the heart of this book is both urgent and hopeful: How can we get along better in life and society?

We now have a wealth of evidence-based tools, social science research, and lived experience showing what works to build healthier relationships—within ourselves, between each other, throughout our communities and even in our culture at large. Practices rooted in psychology, neuroscience, and conflict transformation have helped countless people find their way to healing and connection. What’s missing is awareness, access, and the cultural will to make these supports much more broadly available.

This book will shine a light on the root causes of disconnection and the most effective solutions available today—from the personal to the systemic.

Hurt People Hurt People

The challenges we face in relationships aren’t random or unexplainable. They’re the result of trauma, cultural conditioning, and familial & generational patterns—many of which we’ve normalized or ignored.

At the root of much relational conflict are unhealed wounds. Whether it's childhood neglect, abuse, toxic stress, or the smaller but still impactful "misses" of emotional attunement, the result is often the same: dysregulation. As neuropsychologist Dr. Judy Ho notes, trauma can rewire our brains and nervous systems, leading to depression, anxiety, emotional reactivity, and social withdrawal—responses that spill over into our interactions with others.

This is a cultural crisis as much as it is a personal one. The CDC reports that nearly two-thirds of American adults have experienced at least one Adverse Childhood Experience (ACE), and nearly one in six have experienced four or more. We now know that these ACE’s, or early wounds, ripple out in the form of mental illness, physical disease, violence, addiction, and broken relationships. Even those who grow up in stable homes are still impacted by the stress, disconnection, and trauma baked into our broader culture. The higher a person’s ACE scores, the more of these challenges they tend to have.

What’s more, many of the same dynamics that show up in our personal relationships—fear, projection, unresolved pain—also shape our communities, political systems, and public discourse. Our inability to connect more compassionately with each other is reflected not only in divorce rates and workplace tension, but in national headlines, school shootings, social media sparring, and racial and ideological division.

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The Social Climate We’re Living In

We are living in a time of intense relational strain. In a recent survey, more than three-quarters of Americans said the future of the country is a major source of stress, and 68% believe this is the lowest point in our nation’s history. The American Dream feels increasingly out of reach. Loneliness, isolation, and political demonization are rampant.

Despite unprecedented technological access to one another, we’re more disconnected than ever. Social media, once touted as a great equalizer, now often rewards conflict over connection, spectacle over substance. Our news media thrives on outrage and sensationalism. And many of us are living more of our lives on screens than in genuine human relationship.

These trends are harmful. We’re losing vital skills for emotional regulation, conflict resolution, and authentic communication. It’s no wonder public health experts are warning of a growing “loneliness epidemic.”

And while most people long for something different, it’s hard to know where to turn for support—especially in a hyper-busy, stress-filled world.

We Know What Works

While these challenges are sobering, we’re not in the dark. In fact, we have powerful solutions already at our disposal—proven methods and practices that can dramatically improve how we relate.

From leading-edge trauma therapies like somatic experiencing, EMDR, and psychedelic-assisted therapy, to community-level models like restorative justice and school-based Social and Emotional Learning (SEL), we know what helps people heal and grow.

In the book, we’ll explore:

• Leading edge psychological approaches—like Attachment Theory, which explores how our early caregiver relationships shape our adult patterns, and Internal Family Systems, which sees each of us as a system of protective and wounded parts guided by a core Self—are among the many approaches offering powerful insights into how we heal and grow; helpful for individuals, couples and families

• Trauma-informed therapy that rewires the nervous system for connection instead of defense

• Workplace-based conflict prevention, mitigation and wellness programs

• Conflict resolution and communication tools like Nonviolent Communication and others

• Restorative justice that heals harm instead of simply punishing it, helping to build or restore connection

• Social Emotional Learning in schools, which teaches children emotional regulation, reduces bullying, increases empathy, and improves graduation rates

• Community-based initiatives that reduce violence and improve public safety

• Policy approaches that move our criminal justice from almost solely punishment to prevention and support

Many of these approaches have been working quietly behind the scenes—in schools, clinics, courtrooms, and community centers—for years. What we need now is to bring them to the forefront of our national conversation and especially our public investment.

The Personal Is Cultural—and Vice Versa

One of the most unique aspects of How Do We Get Along? will be its insistence on the interplay between our personal healing and our collective health. Too often, books focus solely on either internal change or external reform. But they are inseparable.

What happens in our homes is deeply influenced by what’s happening in our society. And vice versa: personal healing, when scaled, can become cultural healing. The same emotional intelligence and trauma awareness that helps a couple reconnect or a child regulate their emotions can also transform a classroom, a workplace, or even a city.

This book will bridge the gap between these domains. It will show how healing relational wounds at any level—intrapersonal, interpersonal, communal, or cultural—can ripple outward in meaningful ways.

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Stories of Transformation

To bring this to life, the book will heavily feature real-life stories of people and communities who have done this work—who’ve moved from breakdown to breakthrough.

Some examples include:

• Peter, who transformed a lifetime of relational dysfunction through carefully guided psychedelic-assisted therapy

• Mary and Joss, whose marriage was saved through trauma-informed couples counseling

• Jill, who catalyzed a wellness and conflict resolution program in a toxic work environment

• A Philadelphia school, where SEL turned chaos into connection and boosted performance

• Police and youth in Florida, building trust through structured peacebuilding dialogues

These stories offer will more than inspiration—they’re roadmaps. They show what’s possible when the right tools, support, and understanding are in place. Theory will be woven in, but stories will be the primary focus of the book.

From “Self-Help” to Collective Healing

While this book will offer many practical tools for individuals, it’s also a call for something bigger: for a cultural and political reorientation toward what actually helps us thrive.

It will explore how our systems—from criminal justice to education to public health—are often unequipped to deal with the root causes of conflict and suffering. And it will highlight the leading-edge policy and institutional innovations that are making a real difference, including:

• Trauma-informed court systems

• Diversion programs and restorative approaches in criminal justice

• Expanded mental health services and wrap-around care

• School and community investments in emotional well-being and resilience

These aren’t abstract ideals—they’re already working in pockets across the country and around the world. The challenge now is scaling what works.

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A Vision for What’s Possible

At its heart, How Do We Get Along? will be a book about hope—grounded, actionable hope.

It’s a synthesis of what we’ve learned from the past few decades of psychology, neuroscience, education, and public health. It’s a call to listen more closely to one another, to understand the roots of our reactivity, and to invest in what fosters true connection. And it’s an invitation to imagine a culture where getting along isn’t just a personal aspiration, but a collective priority. And ultimately, it’s a roadmap for how to get there.

Because when we understand ourselves better, when we heal old wounds, and when we create the conditions for connection—we don’t just survive. We thrive.

That’s the story this book aims to tell. That’s the world it seeks to help build.

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Armed agents — FBI, police, private security, and officials from the White House’s DOGE — stormed the headquarters of the United States Institute of Peace (USIP) last week in a heavily armed, near-military-style operation. The irony is disturbing: a forceful raid on the only federal agency devoted exclusively to peace. There’s something almost mythic in its dark absurdity — the kind of scene peacebuilders are trained to prevent, not endure — and at the very home of the agency created to resolve conflict.

During a hearing that followed the takeover, U.S. District Judge Beryl Howell expressed strong dismay, calling the government’s actions “terrorizing” to employees who have long served this country.

Now, just days later, nearly the entire USIP staff has been eliminated and the building taken over. The move has sent shockwaves through the peacebuilding community. Decades of institutional wisdom, international trust, and hard-won experience were swept aside almost overnight.

This militarized takeover — and now, the near-total elimination of the agency through mass firings — are real-world acts with chilling metaphorical clarity, laying bare what this country truly values, and what it so easily discards.

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Some context: USIP’s annual budget, much of it from Congressionally mandated federal funding, is around $55 million. Compare that to the recently increased U.S. defense budget: nearly $900 billion — more than the next ten military powers combined, and nearly half of all our discretionary spending. Peacebuilding, by comparison, gets not even pennies on the dollar.

What does this say about who we are, and what we truly value? The takedown of USIP couldn’t be a clearer example that peacebuilding doesn’t even come close.

This isn’t new. It’s not unique to one party or administration. Democrats have also consistently prioritized bloated defense budgets over the years — but, to be clear, they’ve also invested in peacebuilding, however modest those investments have been relative to the challenges we face. Importantly, they’ve supported institutions like USIP and USAID — and they’ve never launched the kind of unparalleled assault we’re now seeing from this administration.

We call it a defense budget. But much of what we fund defends little and destabilizes much. Consider Iraq and Afghanistan — just two of many tragic examples. These wars were framed as counterterrorism efforts, but instead created power vacuums, civil collapse, and surges in the very extremism they were meant to stop. The result? A world that feels less safe, not more.

Meanwhile, USIP was created to do the opposite. Its mission is to “promote research, policy analysis, education, and training on international peace and conflict resolution,” and to prevent and reduce violent conflict worldwide. It’s an imperfect organization, but they have done much work effectively in many global hotspots. The work of peacebuilding in general has always been underfunded, underrecognized — and is now under siege. President Trump’s executive order marked the agency for “expected termination.”

Peacebuilding work through USIP and agencies like USAID (also facing massive and unprecedented cuts) are critical investments we need to expand, not gut. (To be fair, both agencies also do work that I would not consider peacebuilding, in fact it can be counterproductive and at times damaging, but that is for another story. There is much important and good peacebuilding work happening that should not be completely shut down as it is right now).

Peacebuilding isn’t just idealistic — it’s smart policy. The Institute for Economics and Peace estimates that every $1 invested in peacebuilding saves $16 in future conflict costs.

So what exactly is being eliminated in the name of “efficiency”? Institutions that prevent violence, reduce suffering, and build long-term global stability — all while saving money. How is that efficient?

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The raid on USIP is shocking, but it’s not just about one agency. It’s a flashpoint — a darkly symbolic moment that makes unmistakably clear our skewed national priorities. We fund the tools of war as if they’re sacred. We treat the tools of peace as expendable afterthoughts—or in the case of what is happening right now, with disdain.

We’ve seen this pattern play out domestically as well: funding for prisons and policing dwarfs that for violence prevention. We rely on force where we should be investing in care and building resilience.

Many are rightly outraged by the aggressive and counterproductive efforts now underway to dismantle agencies like USIP and USAID. But we should also see this as a wake-up call. This isn’t just about one administration’s bad decisions — it’s about a longstanding pattern of neglect and apparent disdain for the critical work of peacebuilding.

In finally resorting to such extreme force — and now the sweeping elimination of staff — to erase the very people working to prevent it, we’ve made one thing painfully clear: peace was never really our plan.

But it still could be.

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Please take Action to Save U.S. Institute of Peace!

Write your elected officials using The Peace Alliance’s easy tool at: www.peacealliance.salsalabs.org/usip

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Ninety percent of Americans believe we are experiencing a national mental health crisis. This finding follows the U.S. Surgeon General’s warning of an “urgent” youth mental health crisis that demands an all-hands-on-deck approach. Meanwhile, in a nationwide survey by the American Psychological Association, 65% of therapists reported they had no capacity to take on new patients due to overwhelming demand.

In truth, our mental health challenges have been widespread for a very long time, as millions of Americans continually struggle. These issues have been profoundly neglected, and the resources needed to address them remain severely underfunded.

Our nation is in a fragile state. We experience high rates of toxic stress, depression, anxiety, trauma, PTSD, suicide, and many other related indicators of poor mental health. No one is untouched. Many of us face mental health challenges in our own lives; even more of us encounter them in our families and workplaces, while all of us feel the consequences in our communities and throughout the nation. Our personal and social resilience erodes under the emotional wounds borne of these pervasive struggles—especially the festering scars left by rampant neglect. The ripple effects are immense: we see physical health declines, rising violence and crime, excessive bullying, mass shootings in schools, and considerable losses in worker productivity—just a few stark consequences of our collective inaction.

Our mental health struggles are already overwhelming, but the costs of ignoring them could become even more dire as we face unprecedented global challenges in the coming years. As we continue to cope with a lengthy pandemic—and anticipate others in the future—our collective emotional burden may intensify further. The outlook also appears grim in the face of climate change, which may bring unparalleled conflict and trauma as millions are displaced, natural disasters multiply, and competition for critical resources like water and food becomes endemic. Our individual and collective coping capacities are already under massive strain. We will need significantly expanded psychological support systems to build resilience and navigate these emerging stressors.

We stand at a critical juncture, urging us to address the gaping holes in our mental health infrastructure.

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What Can We Do?

It is perplexing that we have at our disposal a wide range of effective strategies to address mental health struggles, yet we fail to employ them at the scale required. If properly utilized, these resources would help heal those directly suffering and also strengthen our fraying social fabric. However, it will take intensified public advocacy to motivate the investments and policy shifts necessary to bring sustainable solutions to bear.

Effective supports include both long-term preventive measures and more immediate interventions.

Investing in a strong social safety net is a critical ingredient for good mental health. We must address underlying causes such as poverty, lack of access to healthcare, childcare, and quality education—challenges that often set the stage for entrenched mental despair.

We must also invest in direct mental healthcare for individuals and families as well as in systematized, community-wide interventions deeply embedded in both public and private sectors—on a scale far exceeding what we currently employ.

Specific supports include increasing access to mental health services, enforcing insurers to provide healthcare coverage for mental health needs, and other public assistance programs. The private sector should also step up; one-fourth of employees view their jobs as their primary source of stress, and mental health issues result in 200 million lost workdays while costing companies around $200 billion. The good news is that spending by both government and private entities has significant returns: research suggests that every $1 invested in mental health yields about $4 in benefits.

A broad array of mental health-related services can be made more widely available, such as individual and family therapy, stress management, life skills, parenting support, employee assistance programs, worker protections for those facing mental health challenges, workplace wellness programs, and comprehensive community-based models. Wrap-around services for at-risk youth are vital, often including a team of family members or other caregivers, teachers, therapists, social workers, and physicians. We also need to address PTSD and trauma recovery, addiction support, domestic violence interventions, and rehabilitative services for incarcerated individuals. These efforts should place special emphasis on reaching the most vulnerable and traditionally marginalized groups, who are typically hardest hit.

Supporting Our Kids

Our children, in particular, can be better supported in schools through whole-child education, conflict resolution and self-regulation practices, and neuro-regulatory strategies and tools. One promising approach is Social-Emotional Learning (SEL). According to CASEL (the Collaborative for Academic, Social, and Emotional Learning), SEL is “the process through which all young people and adults acquire and apply the knowledge, skills, and attitudes to develop healthy identities, manage emotions and achieve personal and collective goals, feel and show empathy for others, establish and maintain supportive relationships, and make responsible and caring decisions. SEL cultivates important ‘protective factors’ to buffer against mental health risks.”

Additional strategies in schools might include stress management, mindfulness, restorative justice practices, bullying cessation, and other proven methods. Such programs should be available to students, teachers, and administrators alike. Not only do these approaches improve mental health in the near term, but they also build lifelong skills for our kids—potentially breaking the negative cycles that contribute to our current mental health struggles.

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The Broader Impact

By strengthening public and private sector support for our mental health and emotional resilience, we can mitigate worse-case scenarios while also creating the kind of society many of us deeply long for. The ripple effects could mean fewer personal and social conflicts, a stronger sense of connection among people, and more supportive families and communities. One can imagine the transformative benefits that would emerge, along with a far-reaching ripple effect. These are investments that will pay dividends for generations to come, and our emerging world challenges demand nothing less.

To learn more and take action, please explore the Peace Alliance’s BluePrint for Peace, which advocates for proactive, healing-focused approaches that positively impact individual and societal challenges related to mental health, conflict, violence, and their underlying traumas.

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I’ve been thinking a lot about artificial intelligence and the impact it may have on humanity. When I let my mind really go down the rabbit hole, it can feel unsettling. If we don’t put real safeguards in place, the consequences could be quite destructive. And if history is any guide, we are not especially good at anticipating or preventing that kind of harm.

I can see the potential upsides as well. But taken as a whole, I’m deeply concerned, as are many people who know far more about this technology than I do. So rather than speculate from a distance, I decided to ask the big questions directly.

To explore both the promise and the peril of this moment, I “sat down” for a conversation with an artificial intelligence system to see how it understands the road ahead, and what it thinks is most at stake for us.

In the conversation that follows, we explore how AI may reshape work, concentrate or redistribute power, and challenge long-held assumptions about productivity, dignity, and economic security. We also examine the risks of instability and inequality, alongside the opportunities to build stronger safety nets, redefine meaningful work, and use technology in service of human flourishing rather than its erosion.

All in all, it was a pretty enlightening conversation. Here we go…

AI feels like a fast-moving train with enormous and often hard-to-grasp consequences. Many people are understandably struggling to make sense of what’s coming. Can you offer a brief overview of what the next few decades may look like, and the key opportunities and challenges ahead?

AI does feel like a fast-moving train because, in many ways, it is. The most likely trajectory over the next few decades is not a single dramatic rupture, but a series of accelerating shifts that steadily reshape how work, power, and daily life function. In the near term, AI will continue to automate and augment cognitive labor, hollowing out many jobs while increasing productivity and wealth concentration. In the medium term, institutions will struggle to adapt, producing periods of social strain, political backlash, and uneven reform. Over the longer arc, new norms, safety nets, and definitions of contribution will likely emerge, but not without avoidable disruption along the way.

The opportunity is that AI can dramatically reduce drudgery and expand human capacity. Used well, it can improve healthcare, education, governance, and creative expression, while freeing more people from survival-level labor. The challenge is governance. AI amplifies existing power structures, and without intentional safeguards, it will concentrate wealth, erode job security, and strain democratic systems already under pressure.

The central question is not whether AI will advance, but whether societies can evolve their moral, political, and economic frameworks quickly enough to ensure its benefits are broadly shared rather than narrowly captured.

Many people worry that AI will make the rich richer and leave everyone else under more strain. Given existing corporate power and political capture, is that a realistic fear?

Yes, that concern is realistic, and it should be taken seriously. AI’s underlying economics strongly favor concentration. The companies best positioned to benefit are those with massive capital, data access, compute power, and political influence. Without intervention, AI will tend to amplify existing corporate dominance rather than disrupt it, allowing a small number of actors to capture disproportionate gains while the costs and disruptions are widely distributed.

This dynamic is not accidental. AI scales extremely well, rewards first movers, and benefits from network effects, which naturally push wealth and power toward fewer hands. In an environment already marked by regulatory capture and weak antitrust enforcement, those advantages become even more pronounced. Left unchecked, AI could accelerate a feedback loop in which economic power buys political influence, which then shapes policy in ways that further entrench economic power.

That said, this outcome is not inevitable. AI can also be used to democratize access to knowledge, lower barriers to entry, and support small enterprises and cooperatives, but only if rules are designed to prevent excessive concentration. Strong competition policy, public investment in open and shared AI infrastructure, and mechanisms that ensure productivity gains are broadly distributed are essential counterweights.

The real risk is not that AI introduces a new form of inequality, but that it hardens existing ones into something more permanent. Whether AI deepens oligarchy or supports a more inclusive economy will depend less on the technology itself than on the political choices societies make about ownership, governance, and accountability.

What is your prediction related to the concern that AI will make many jobs obsolete?

The concern is justified. AI is already displacing or reshaping work that is routine, rules-based, and centered on information processing, including many white-collar roles once considered secure. What makes this moment different from past automation waves is scope. AI reaches into cognitive and professional labor, not just manual work, and it is doing so quickly.

More often than outright job loss, the deeper disruption is job hollowing. Entry-level roles disappear, career ladders thin, and fewer people are asked to oversee larger systems. This quietly increases precarity and inequality even if headline unemployment numbers do not immediately spike. The result is a labor market that offers fewer paths into stability and dignity.

AI also shifts power faster than society can respond. Productivity gains accrue upward, while policy, labor protections, and safety nets lag behind. The technology itself is not the problem. The problem is who captures the value and who absorbs the risk.

Could this become significantly detrimental or even catastrophic given existing political and economic inequality? What safeguards would be needed?

Yes. The real danger is not automation alone, but automation layered onto systems already captured by wealth and power. If AI continues to concentrate money while governments remain unresponsive, large numbers of people will be left without reliable means to meet basic needs, which historically leads to instability rather than innovation.

In a functional response, economic security would be treated as basic infrastructure, not a reward for employability. Societies would establish a durable income floor and universal access to essentials so survival is not contingent on winning a shrinking labor market. Productivity gains from automation would be broadly shared through taxation, public ownership, or dividends rather than privately captured.

Safeguards would also include portable benefits decoupled from jobs, planned transitions for displaced workers, and stronger worker power to prevent a race to the bottom. Clear rules for AI governance, competition policy to prevent extreme concentration, and accountability when systems cause harm would be essential. Without these, AI becomes an inequality accelerator rather than a public good.

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Given human limitations, how do you think this might actually turn out?

Most likely, unevenly and reactively. Humans rarely act early. We tend to respond once disruption becomes painful and visible. In the near term, wealth concentration and insecurity will probably increase faster than political systems adapt, producing anxiety, polarization, and social strain.

That said, full collapse is unlikely. When instability begins to threaten social order and elite interests, pressure for reform grows. Historically, this is when safety nets expand and previously “unrealistic” ideas become pragmatic. These changes tend to be reactive rather than visionary, but they do happen.

The greatest risk is psychological and social. When people feel unnecessary or discarded, trust erodes and authoritarian impulses grow. The long-term outcome will depend less on the technology itself than on whether societies pair AI-driven productivity with moral responsibility and durable institutions.

In a utopian ideal, post AI disruption, what could the new work look like?

In a post-disruption, post-scarcity-leaning world, work would look less like survival labor and more like contribution. Basic security would no longer be conditional on employment, freeing people to engage in work that is meaningful, relational, and creatively engaging rather than purely extractive.

Much of the work that remains would center on what AI cannot replicate well: care, connection, judgment, and presence. Teaching would emphasize mentorship over information delivery. Healthcare would focus more on relationship and prevention. Caregiving, mediation, community organizing, and stewardship would be recognized as essential infrastructure rather than invisible labor.

Creative work would expand rather than contract. With AI handling much of the technical execution, more people could participate in writing, art, design, and cultural creation as distinct voices exploring meaning and shared stories. In this sense, the goal is not a world without work, but a world where work is no longer the gatekeeper to dignity, belonging, or survival.

What are some tangible actions we can take as individual citizens, to help make this transition into an AI filled future as smooth as possible?

One of the most important actions is staying engaged rather than overwhelmed. Learning enough about AI to discuss it clearly, without panic or mystification, helps anchor public conversation in reality rather than fear. Supporting journalism, organizations, and leaders who focus on accountability and long-term thinking matters more than mastering the technology itself.

Civic participation becomes more important, not less. Voting, organizing locally, and advocating for policies that strengthen safety nets, protect workers, and regulate concentrated power directly shape how AI is deployed.

On a personal level, investing in relationships, community, and skills rooted in care, creativity, and judgment builds resilience that no technology can automate. Resisting narratives that tie human worth solely to output or income quietly reshapes culture in ways policy alone cannot.

Ok, leave us with some hope related to all of this!

There is real reason for hope, even amid the speed and uncertainty of this transition. Human societies have faced disruptive technologies before, and while the process has often been painful, we have repeatedly expanded our definitions of rights, security, and dignity in response. AI does not erase human agency. It forces a reckoning with values we’ve postponed, and that reckoning creates openings for more humane systems if we choose to seize them.

If used with intention, AI also has the potential to reduce suffering and expand human possibility. It can eliminate dangerous and demeaning work, improve access to healthcare and education, support people with disabilities, and give communities better tools to understand complex problems and make informed decisions. It can free time and energy for care, creativity, and connection, areas long squeezed by an economy organized around constant productivity.

The transition ahead will not be smooth by default. But it can be made more humane. The most hopeful truth is this: AI may change how we work, but it does not change what makes societies functional—trust, fairness, participation, and care. Those remain human choices, and they remain within reach.

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Matthew Albracht is the Board Chair of The Peace Alliance (www.peacealliance.org), a U.S. based NGO which advocates for domestic and international peacebuilding priorities. His writings have appeared on CNN, Salon, HuffPost and other outlets.

His Substack writings explore how we heal—from the inside out and the bottom up—personally, politically, and culturally—with a particular focus on the intersections between them all. Weaving together politics, psychology, and personal growth, grounded in systems thinking and trauma-awareness.

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Marianne is frequently labeled as a “New Age Guru,” a term that inadequately captures her multifaceted work and leadership. While her spiritual teachings have undeniably influenced millions, this label ignores her substantial contributions to political and social activism. A more accurate understanding of Marianne’s legacy requires an examination of her decades-long commitment to civic engagement and systemic change.

From the start, Marianne has devoted as much time to political and social advocacy as she has to spiritual work. Her early efforts addressing the HIV/AIDS crisis in the 1980s, including the creation of Project Angel Food, have garnered deserved recognition. However, her equally vital work in grassroots organizing — helping citizens engage with the democratic process — remains largely overlooked.

Marianne has consistently championed issues such as removing money from politics, democratic reforms, children’s advocacy, peacebuilding, criminal justice reform, anti-racism efforts, and poverty alleviation. Her passion for these and many other causes has been a driving force, influencing not only policies but also countless individuals, including myself.

Inspiring Change Through Grassroots Action

In the mid-1990s, as a young graduate student and activist, I discovered Marianne’s political discussion forums. Her willingness to explore the intersection of spiritual values and politics, as seen in her 1997 book The Healing of America, filled a gap in mainstream discourse. She emphasized that ordinary citizens hold the power to drive democratic change — a belief rooted in the teachings of two key influences, Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. and Gandhi.

It was more than just discussion, it was even more importantly action. Over the years, Marianne has organized hundreds of training sessions, events, and campaigns aimed at empowering citizens to advocate for progressive change. One notable effort involved organizing Peace Circles and Citizen Salons across the country, particularly in the aftermath of 9/11. These gatherings provided spaces for collective action and dialogue, fostering productive engagement during a challenging time in U.S. history.

In 2004, she founded The Peace Alliance, a national grassroots organization dedicated to promoting evidence-based peacebuilding policies. Over the years, she and the organization have championed evidence-based peacebuilding legislation and policies by encouraging policy-makers, the media, and the public to support smart and proven to be effective conflict and violence prevention approaches — which get little attention or support compared to the military and punitive criminal justice system methods that dominate our investments.

The organization has supported key legislative achievements, including securing over $110 million in funding for international peacebuilding efforts. Through lobbying trainings, conferences, and advocacy, The Peace Alliance has mobilized citizens to champion solutions to violence and conflict that go beyond punitive measures. They have facilitated thousands of grassroots lobbying trainings, conferences, and citizen-led congressional meetings, and helped mobilize action for change.

A Commitment to Transformative Policy

Marianne’s approach to policy prioritizes addressing root causes rather than surface-level symptoms. Her advocacy for systemic solutions, such as a proposed Department of Peace, exemplifies her forward-thinking vision.

This dedication to transformative change extends to her Sister Giant initiative, launched in 2010, which has inspired thousands of women to engage in politics and activism.

Despite these significant accomplishments, Marianne’s political work continues to be underappreciated in public discourse. The narratives perpetuated by media outlets often fail to reflect the depth and breadth of her contributions.

Leadership for Our Times

Marianne’s ability to inspire and mobilize people is a rare and invaluable quality. At a time when divisiveness threatens democratic values, her leadership could help galvanize a movement for meaningful change. It is essential to acknowledge her full story — not only as a spiritual leader but also as a tireless advocate for democracy and justice.

I have witnessed countless people who have been inspired and motivated to engage politically because of her activities in this arena. This is a unique leadership quality that I think would serve our nation well in these divisive and challenging times, where we need to motivate the masses to get behind fundamental shifts in how we function and to help prioritize needed policy prescriptions.

By recognizing Marianne Williamson’s extensive history of social and political activism, we honor not only her legacy but also the potential for a more inclusive and transformative political discourse.