Staying Awake When Ordinary Life Keeps Going

May their memory always be a fuel for us.
And in our lifetimes, may we know justice.
And in our lifetimes, may we know peace.

I was quiet because I didn’t know what to say. I was worried that even if I did say something, it wouldn’t be enough. When the stakes are this high, words can feel thin, and I didn’t want to add to the noise or use a moment like this to promote myself. Still, staying silent didn’t feel right either.

It feels strange to go about daily life right now. To answer emails. To make dinner. To talk about weekend plans. All while knowing that our government is gunning people down and snatching people off the streets. For many people, this is not abstract or distant. It is immediate, frightening, and destabilizing.

For those of us who still have the illusion of distance, there’s a particular kind of dissonance that sets in. You care. You’re paying attention. And still, you may feel like you don’t have the right words, the right role, or anything meaningful to add. That silence can feel like failure. Or worse, like complicity.

I don’t believe the answer is to disengage. And I don’t believe the answer is to perform certainty we don’t actually have. Being involved does not mean having a polished statement or a public-facing response. Sometimes involvement begins with staying present to what is uncomfortable instead of rushing past it. It means resisting the urge to normalize what should unsettle us, just so we can get through the day more easily.

If you feel like you have nothing to contribute, that doesn’t automatically mean you have nothing to offer. Often, it means the moment is asking for something other than commentary. It may be asking for attention. For listening. For the willingness to stay present when it would be easier to look away or change the subject.

There is a difference between silence that withdraws and silence that stays. One numbs. The other bears witness.

Living your life does not negate what is happening. But living responsibly while this is happening asks something of us. It asks us to notice who is afraid. To stay in conversation. To learn without centering ourselves. To support people in tangible ways when we can, and to remain open even when we don’t yet know what the right next step is. It’s refusing to disappear emotionally just because the crisis doesn’t land neatly in your own life.

Ordinary life will keep going. That much is unavoidable. What matters is whether we move through it asleep, or whether we choose—again and again—to stay awake to one another while it does.