What We Build, Even In The Dark
Why Leadership Rooted in Love and Grief Can Sustain Us Through Crisis
For a long time, I thought activism meant carrying the weight of the world on my shoulders. If I didn’t act, things would get worse. If I didn’t push hard enough, fast enough, nothing would change. And if nothing changed, it was because I had failed.
This is the story many of us inherit when we care deeply about the world. It’s a story that leads straight to burnout, disillusionment, and paralysis. And it isn’t true.
What we do matters, not because it guarantees immediate success, but because it is a thread in the larger fabric of collective change.
We are the leaders we have been looking for.
Leadership is about showing up for the work that’s ours to do, in partnership with others, seen and unseen.
We offer our actions like seeds we plant in a garden we may never walk through. We tend them because tending is who we are.
We may never see the outcomes of our labor. That doesn’t make the work less necessary. It makes it sacred.
This way of being is an offering to the universe. We act not for applause, nor for guaranteed return, but because it is an expression of love.
When we move from love, compassionate action flows effortlessly—it’s not something we owe, but something we are.
center
There’s no denying the urgency of this moment. Climate collapse, rising authoritarianism and systemic injustice are not far-off threats. They are here, and they are accelerating.
Delay is not neutral. Action is needed. Now.
But urgency does not have to become panic. Panic clouds judgment. It shortens our vision, drives us into reactivity, and often leads to decisions that are more about relieving our anxiety than serving the work.
Urgency asks us to move quickly AND wisely. Panic demands speed at the cost of clarity.
Even in urgent times, we can take small, intentional steps. We act with focus, purpose, and trust that our contributions (however small) are part of something larger.
Grounded urgency means regulating our nervous systems so that we can hold steady in the storm.
If we are peaceful, if we are happy, we can smile and blossom like a flower, and everyone in our family, our entire society, will benefit from our peace.
In moments of crisis, our calm presence becomes a gift—not just to ourselves, but to everyone around us.
sustainability
There’s a lot to grieve. Species lost. Cultures erased. Futures denied.
We are living through a time of mass extinction, both ecological and cultural.
To not feel grief would be its own kind of numbness.
The heart that breaks open can contain the whole universe.
Grief expands our capacity to love. It keeps us tender. It reminds us of what we cherish. It allows us to remain in relationship with what we have lost.
Love is what anchors us. It begins with a decision and comes alive through what we do. It is the process of caring deeply and consistently.
Love shows up in the small, steady ways we build trust and belonging.
Out of the mud of grief grows the lotus of compassion, joy, and renewal. When we honor both grief and love, we create an emotional ecology that sustains us.
We act not because we are untouched by sorrow, but because we are touched by it. And we continue acting because love—for each other, for the Earth, for future generations—is inexhaustible when tended with care.
We are ancestors of a world we cannot yet see.
What we build, even in the dark, matters.
