TRAGEDY IS THE NEW REALITY

It’s becoming increasingly difficult to remain neutral. Week after week, the United States seems to breach yet another boundary of what once felt unshakable. This past week was no exception. We witnessed a stunning disregard for the rule of law, as the president openly acknowledged he would accept a luxury jumbo jet—valued at $400 million—from the government of Qatar. And not only that, but he gets to keep it by “donating” it to his Presidential Library Foundation once he leaves office.

This isn’t just improper—it appears to be unconstitutional. The Foreign Emoluments Clause of Article I makes it clear: “no Person holding any Office of Profit or Trust under them, shall, without the Consent of the Congress, accept … any present, Emolument, Office, or Title, of any kind whatever, from any King, Prince, or foreign State.” These words aren’t ambiguous. They were designed to protect the republic from exactly this kind of conflict—where personal gain and foreign influence overlap with public service.

This is not the country I grew up in. This is not the country so many have fought and died to protect. The founders didn’t expect perfection, but they did expect progress. The Constitution wasn’t written as a static document—it was built to evolve. But evolution should aim for higher ground, not a slow slide into cynicism and entitlement.

Yes, the nation has changed. It was always meant to. But the goal was never to consolidate power or enrich the elite off the backs of the poor and middle class. The goal was always to strive toward a more perfect union. We can’t lose sight of that just because it’s inconvenient to those in power.

If we care about the future of this country, we must be willing to speak out—not in anger, but in accountability. This moment demands more from all of us.

When one of the highest offices in the land seems to show little regard for the rule of law or the sanctity of due process, it casts a long shadow over what that role is meant to represent. Our country was founded with the intention of doing better—of building something more just and more humane than what the founders left behind. I wonder if they’d even recognize what we've become.

To be fair, they knew the world would change. They built a system that could evolve—one with amendments, checks, and deliberation. But at its core, it was meant to remain grounded in one enduring idea: a government of the people, by the people, for the people.

Today, that spirit feels increasingly distant. The wealth gap widens, and with it, the compassion gap. Prosperity for some seems to come at the expense of others. I'm not opposed to success—far from it. But when wealth is built by stepping over those without a voice, and then defended as deserved, something vital is lost.

We cannot afford to let due process erode—especially now, in an age where fiction is too easily dressed up as fact. When truth becomes a performance and evidence is optional, the consequences ripple outward. Democracy depends on a foundation of fairness, not a chorus of certainty shouted without proof.

We owe it to each other to be more discerning. To seek truth, not just affirmation. And to defend the structures that protect us, especially when they’re most at risk.

There’s a growing discomfort I’ve noticed lately, particularly in places like LinkedIn. Some express frustration when political concerns are raised in spaces they believe should remain neutral. I understand the desire for separation—but what’s unfolding around us reaches far beyond politics. It strikes at the very foundation of who we are.

We are witnessing behavior from leadership that defies precedent. The erosion of respect for law, for the co-equal branches of government that were designed to safeguard us, has been nothing short of staggering. Power, once restrained by careful balance, is now being stretched beyond its intended limits.

Citizens and non-citizens alike are facing consequences without due process, a principle we once held sacred. Freedoms we often take for granted—speech, protest, dissent—are increasingly under attack. These aren't abstract concerns reserved for political debate. They are direct challenges to what it means to belong to a free society.

This should alarm all of us, no matter our personal views or affiliations. It’s no longer about party lines. It’s about the survival of the principles that make citizenship meaningful in the first place: rights, protections, and accountability.

We need to wake up—not with fear, but with clarity. Questioning authority is not disloyalty. Oversight is not obstruction. Especially when agendas are hidden or obscured, scrutiny becomes an act of civic responsibility, not defiance.

Silence in moments like these is not neutrality. It is surrender. And if we value what this country claims to stand for, we cannot afford to look away.

It’s difficult not to feel uneasy about the direction we’re headed. Not because of one political party or another, but because of the growing sense that truth itself is being bent—not toward understanding, but toward convenience.

We used to aspire to be a nation of many voices—diverse in origin, belief, and experience. That mosaic gave us strength. Yet somewhere along the way, our shared vision fractured. The idea of building something greater together seems to have taken a backseat to power, profit, and partisanship.

We can’t allow wealth to be our only metric of success. You can’t take it with you. So why not use our time here to improve what we’re part of—for ourselves, yes, but also for those who follow? A legacy rooted not in accumulation, but contribution.

Truth is not a tool for personal gain. Something either happened or it didn’t. And while there are certainly gray areas—nuance, complexity, context—we should never confuse that with manipulation. There is a difference between perspective and distortion.

But we’ve surrounded ourselves with so much noise, so many opinions dressed up as fact, that the real story too often disappears beneath the surface—or worse, is reshaped into something unrecognizable.

That’s what concerns me most. Not disagreement, but the erosion of a shared sense of what’s real. If we can’t begin from the same page, how can we ever write the next chapter?

We owe it to each other to slow down, to ask better questions, and to stay grounded in a curiosity that seeks to understand rather than control. The world doesn’t get better by accident. It gets better when we stop spinning and start listening.

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.