I am an introvert, sometimes with a lot to say, but most of which goes unsaid. This blog post is an extremely simplified version of some of the things I have been thinking about since my spring break trip to Israel last week.
While I could write about the country’s history, the Israel-Palestinian conflict, the broader Middle East conflict, the Israeli economy, the politics or the landscapes, I want to talk about a idea that stuck with me:
We are so small, and individually largely insignificant.
There have been hundreds of thousands of people who have lived before us, and there will be hundreds of thousands of people who live after us. We are just one of 7.7 billion people today living on this earth, making us each just a teeny tiny piece of this world.
A world in which we have built up walls because of identities that we have created in our minds and then our realities. A world in which we treat others differently because of their histories and stories. A world in which we make up characters for ourselves and write others stories for them without ever knowing we did so. It’s a strange world.
The world is full of contradictions. Beauty and disaster. Pleasure and pain. Suffering and happiness. Birth and death.
It is a crazy world. We tell stories to make sense of it, and not all of our stories are the same. My story about me is not the same as the one you tell about me. The story I tell about you is not the same as the one you tell. Listening helps. Empathy helps. Nothing is ever enough, but something is always better than nothing.
Loving is doing, my grandfather tells me. Loving is doing.
And loving doesn’t make us small. Loving makes us big. Big for those who’s lives we have touched. Because loving connects us to a body bigger than our own. Makes us part of a world connected in love that will carryon long after we are gone.