Hello, world,

As a citizen of a planet of 7.125 billion, it’s very easy to feel small. Try as I might, I can never quite grasp the ephemeral nature of my physical life; it haunts me far more than I’d like to admit. There are so many eras and events of human history that I will never be able to understand or experience; of the 108 billion people who have ever been born, lived and died on this earth, I am simply one.

I prefer to believe that I was chosen for this particular fragment of space and time for a reason, but I know that this reason is likely an incomprehensible one. In the grand scheme of eternity, I have been given a mere speck. From dust it was created, and to dust it will return. I am bound by the limits of human perception and influence, regardless of the path I take. In a world so beautiful and so fractured, this pains me greatly. I wish I could absorb it all: See each morning mist, hear each precious voice, smell each city’s air, taste each fleeting moment and touch each shattered heart.

Sometimes, I indulge my philosophical spirit and mourn the truth that I am an imperfect person living an imperfect life in an imperfect world. As easy as this is, I am learning to dwell on the mystery that a finite existence provides. I certainly become no bigger, but the overwhelming reality of eternity becomes somewhat smaller. I become a member of a global community — of a family. To put this community into perspective, it’s helpful to take a microcosmic approach that looks something like this.

If the population of the world was represented by 100 people living together in a global village, there would by 61 Asians, 13 Africans, 12 Europeans, nine Latin Americans and five North Americans. Twelve would speak Mandarin Chinese, five Spanish, five English, five Hindi, three Arabic, two Portuguese, two Russian, two Japanese, one German and the rest — one of the 6,000 other languages spoken throughout the world.

There would be an equal distribution of 50 males and 50 females. Thirty-three would practice the Christian faith, 22 would practice Islam, 14 would be Hindus, seven would be Buddhists and two would be atheists. Fifty-one would live on less than a dollar a day. Forty would lack access to basic sanitation and 13 would lack access to safe drinking water. Twenty-five would be homeless or live in substandard housing. Seven would have a college education, and seven would be illiterate. Half of the village’s wealth would be held by only six people.

The most powerful person in the village — likely a white male of North American descent — would hold 40 percent of the village’s resources. As I examine these statistics in the safety of my home and the security of my privilege, the diversity that permeates and the disparity that plagues our world becomes so real. I think about the contention and violence that would surely arise in our village as many vile realities of the human condition would surface. There would be war. Illness. Poverty. Prejudice.

But as a firm believer in the innate goodness of humankind, I also think about the hope and humanity that would emerge. Neighbors would go to great lengths to help neighbors. People would make music and write poetry. Mothers would give birth to children with no concept of hatred. The old would pass their wisdom on to the young, and the young would impress their boldness upon the old. Maybe we would come to the realization of a simple truth that lies at the root of the vast majority of our conflicts and misunderstandings. “If we have no peace, it is because we have forgotten that we belong to each other." — Mother Teresa

It would be impossible to sustain a village of 100 without an understanding of the role we must choose to play in one another’s lives. So why do we live as if we can sustain a planet of 7.125 billion that way? Why do we live as if we’re individually exempt from globally responsible citizenship? Why do we neglect even those closest to us? Admittedly, compassion, tolerance and other traits essential in establishing a sense of community in our world are not easy to exercise. They require selfless sacrifice and quiet humility. This often means that we must abandon our own hopes, dreams and desires — however deserved they might be — for the benefit of others. We must listen to difficult and unfamiliar perspectives when we want nothing more than to share our own. At times, this can be crushing.

However, I would argue that the consequences of blind selfishness are far more cumbersome to bear. Quite frankly, I get tired of hearing about children torn to pieces by wars that began long before they were born. I get tired of watching the suicide rate in my country grow higher and higher each year. I get tired of learning about education systems that fail even those who are lucky enough to be included. I get tired of watching food, water and other resources go to waste in my community when they may be desperately needed elsewhere, if only down the street. I get especially tired of feeling like there’s nothing I can do about it.

Perhaps then, it is not trial or difficulty that inhibit us from doing good, but rather an impenetrable fear that our lives and efforts are insignificant. One act of goodwill could never make a drop in the sea of malevolence that suffocates our world, could it? I am learning to believe (or at least hope) that it can. I am learning to believe in the healing power of compassion, which mends the broken relationships that lie at the root of many of our struggles. I am learning to believe in the transformative power of knowledge, which brings light to minds that once chafed in darkness.

I am learning to believe in the inexplicable power of a single voice, even if it’s just my own. So no matter how many times I fail or am failed by others, I continue to believe. I continue to hope. I continue to exercise compassion, gain knowledge and develop a voice. Some days, it’s very hard. Most days, I don’t believe in myself nearly as much as I know I should. Yet I cling to the words of visionaries like Malala Yousafzi whose lives are incredible testimonies that defy apathy and fear. “Let us remember: One book, one pen, one child and one teacher can change the world.”

And still, I wonder if our plight is also rooted in the tragedy that so many of us fail to see our innate worth and value as human beings. This reality is all too common in a society that tries to impart so many false identities upon us. Good is never good enough. Kind is never kind enough. Brave is never brave enough. We are never good enough. You are never good enough. If you have been made to feel inferior because of who you are, my words about power and change likely seem empty — and perhaps for good reason. Your wounds are deep and your heartache real. It may seem impossible to struggle for a global good that you have never seen or experienced.

I am not writing to ask you to forgive or forget. I am not writing you to offer a shallow promise that “things will get better if you convert to my religion or assimilate into my culture.” I am writing to validate your pain and applaud your perseverance. I am writing to thank you for the ineffable grace that you demonstrate in your communities. I am writing to thank you for the hope you exude in the midst of despair. You make our village stronger. You fill it with love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control — and you elicit these things from the rest of us. In the words of poet Max Ehrmann, “You are a child of the universe, no less than the trees and the stars.”

To all of us, I am writing to say this: How frighteningly beautiful it is to be children of a universe that has given birth 108 billion times — and counting. Let us not take our childhood for granted.

Sincerely,

One