At the beginning of the pandemic I, like everyone else, was worried; but I, again perhaps like many, also was so hopeful that those who survived without loss or injury would ultimately emerge better than before. I hoped that we would learn more empathy, more care for each other, and realize anew that we have so much in common. But though this may have happened for some, I think we can all agree that it's not true for many others. And while I feel so sorry for those who have suffered loss and illness, I also grieve that we (as in "all of us") did not do better at seizing the opportunities this difficult time has presented us with.

I -- and again, I'm likely along many, many others -- have been wracking my brain to imagine what I can do better and what we can do better together to overcome the chasms that have only deepened between our divergent understandings of the world around us -- really, of reality.

Kristen, my wife, and I (Now that's an interesting use of the Oxford comma! Or is it?) live in a very small town in rural Oregon, and we are absolutely and overwhelmingly surrounded by people who perceive reality in relation to the pandemic, politics, and society in general, completely differently from us. W-I-D-E-L-Y differently. But here is the shocker: Most of them are really kind to us. Our neighbors are kind, the clerks in the stores are kind, the restaurant owners are kind when we periodically pick up food, and the hunters and fishermen who share their bounty with us are kind. There's not a shred of fakeness about it; it is truly caring. (And we try to do the same.)

I think this ongoing experience holds two universal keys to answers to the question of what we need to do: First, we need to focus on what we share, and second, we must realize that everyone has numerous identities aside from the ones that are shaped by our worldviews. We are also parents, sons and daughters. We have the same basic needs and desires, are affected by the same weather, fall in (and out) of love, work on our relationships, hurt when we fall, have bad breath in the mornings (unless -- so I hear -- you're a vegan), and feel tired when we get sick or work too much. These and so many other impulses form our various and complex identities and places of belonging, and we share much, much more of these than we don't.

In many of our societies, it seems difficult to bridge what separates us. And when we lack bridges, our view of others' more complex selves is obstructed. So let's focus on our shared identities.

 

I know that this edition of the Tool Box Journal is outrageously late -- I'm sorry about that. The reason is that the very stimulating conversation with Nico Herbig and Samuel Läubli contained here took a bit longer than expected, plus Kristen (who is my non-Oxford-comma wife after all) and I enjoyed a couple of nice Thanksgiving days last week at our lake cabin.