TRAGEDY IS THE NEW REALITY

There was once a time when the structure of our government—three coequal branches—felt like an unshakable truth. It was taught to us in school, simplified into tidy diagrams and textbooks: executive, legislative, judicial. Each with its powers. Each with its limits. Together, a system of checks and balances, designed to keep any one force from overtaking the others.

But lately, that balance feels more like a memory than a reality.

I’m not here to point fingers or name parties. This isn’t about political allegiance. It’s about the slow unraveling of something we should all hold sacred: accountability, restraint, and the idea that no person—or institution—is above the Constitution.

What worries me is not just the actions of those in power, but the apathy of those watching from the sidelines. We scroll, we sigh, we shrug. We treat erosion like entertainment. We accept dysfunction as inevitable. But at what cost?

When one branch asserts dominance without consequence, when the judiciary becomes politicized, when the legislative body is reduced to tribalism and performative noise—what is left of the republic we claim to uphold?

I worry that we've become numb to the gravity of what's happening. That the storm is still gathering, and we’ve convinced ourselves the weather is fine.

We don't have to agree on every issue to agree that democracy demands care. It’s not self-sustaining. It requires effort, vigilance, and above all, humility. The kind that reminds us we are all—citizens and leaders alike—responsible for this fragile experiment.

We need fewer slogans and more listening. Less winning, more wisdom. Less noise, more accountability.

This isn't about left or right. It's about whether the foundation is still holding. And if it's not, then we owe it to each other to fix it—not for power, not for legacy, but for the possibility of something better than this.

We are not helpless. But we must choose to be engaged.

And that starts by staying curious, not judgmental. Even now.

Especially now.

There’s a moment in every life when we’re faced with something unfamiliar—another person’s belief, lifestyle, pain, or joy—and we’re given a choice: to judge it or to try and understand it. In a world increasingly quick to label and divide, curiosity is becoming a rare and radical act.

I’ve been reflecting lately on the way belief—especially belief in a higher power—is used. Faith, in its purest form, should unite us, expand our perspective, and humble us. But all too often, belief is bent inward, reshaped to serve the self instead of the whole. Scripture is selectively quoted. Dogma is wielded as a weapon. The supposed moral compass becomes a mirror reflecting only personal gain.

Those who twist belief for power or control may truly think they’re devout. But I wonder—don’t they sense it? That what they’re doing isn’t selfless, but self-serving? That their so-called righteousness is just a form of masked judgment? Deep down, perhaps they do. The human subconscious is powerful. It can bury truth, but it rarely silences it completely.

This is where curiosity must take the lead.

Instead of judging others for how they believe—or don’t—what if we asked more questions? What shaped their view of the world? What pain have they endured? What are they searching for when they pray, meditate, or simply breathe?

We each live inside our own reality, stitched together from memory, experience, and emotion. No one’s path is the same. But if we’re brave enough to stay curious—truly curious—we begin to see the invisible threads that connect us. We find empathy. We find compassion. We find possibility.

And in that shared space of open minds and open hearts, we begin to evolve—not just spiritually, but collectively. It is in that space that true prosperity begins. Not wealth. Not status. But peace. Understanding. Community.

So be curious. Not judgmental. It might just be the first step toward something greater than yourself—and all of us.