When we consider the atrocities committed around the world, and when our job thrusts us in examining the face of persecution, honouring our own personal struggles can become a complicated process. There is an unshakeable guilt in absorbing our individual pain and losses, compounded sometimes between the righteous sermons of comrades who either deride the melancholia of others as senseless self indulgence or who have fully lost their connection to the job and instead stay woefully focused on their material happiness only. The perplexing pull of these opposing polarity can often times wear us down.

In one of my meditative mornings, as I breathed in deeply and stayed focused on nothing else but the consciousness of my body, I finally relaxed into my existence. That I was alive, I felt sadness, loneliness and struggle and it was OK to lean into it. I was not undermining global tragedy by experiencing my own regrets and anxieties. The work is always in accepting that life is a flawed enterprise – of the world and of ourselves. And to stay at so hum – at I am – without judgment, critique, punishment, sin, worry and anger- just with complete and utter love, peace and gratitude – is sometimes the highest version of ourselves that we can reach in that very moment in time.