There are days when the world feels like it’s teetering on the edge, and today was one of those days. The news cycles are thick with conflict, leaders posturing with threats, and the weight of what might come next sits heavy. Yet in this image—my daughter’s hand holding a starfish against the golden sky of Lebanon—there was something grounding. It was a quiet reminder of simplicity, of the kind of balance we seem to have lost.
Looking at it, I’m reminded that our planet, our existence, is crafted with such intricate precision. The systems of life, the design of the human body, the intelligence of the heart—none of this came by accident. We are made to live, to relate, to coexist. So how did we arrive here, constantly stepping into the same shadows of history, repeating wars, repeating division? Why do the same old empires keep forming under new names, powered by greed and ego?
But I refuse to give in to despair. I wake up inspired every morning—maybe that’s naïve, or maybe it’s resilience. Maybe it’s the only path left that makes sense. I want to believe in peace, in art, in love. I want to believe we can choose differently, that we are not doomed to recycle the past endlessly.
Today, as I looked at that small hand reaching upward, I chose again to believe. I still believe we can live with grace on this earth. Maybe that is enough to begin.
