A decade ago my kids went to Europe. They rambled in Amsterdam, the Swiss Alps, and Rome. They rode bikes along the canals, kissed the Blarney stone in Ireland, and climbed mountains like the von Trapps. Maybe they even sang about their favorite things. 

 

 

I gaze at a photo of them playfully mirroring the arches of the Colosseum and wonder what the vibe is in those stones after a few centuries. Have the columns finally forgotten the echoing cries?

 

The building was erected for violence as entertainment. Warriors, prisoners, slaves were dismembered for the pleasure of a stadium full of onlookers. If you can call it that. How is it that throngs of people would pay gold coins for the chance to witness cruelty? 

 

And yet. 

 

Have things really changed? When I scroll through the news and social media I find words that are jarring. Shredded. Ripped into. Tear apart. These verbs are strategically chosen to grab a virtual auditorium of readers, who somehow hunger for blood. I have clicked on them. 

 

These are not the only articles out there. If you have a taste for kindness and generosity it is there to be found.  The Empathy Museum has a project inviting visitors to walk a mile in the shoes of another person, one they might not easily understand... a refugee, a sex worker, a veteran, a neurosurgeon. While slipping on the actual footwear you listen to the story of the person whose life is drastically different from your own. They even house the exhibit in a giant shoe box. I don't plan to go there, though I am impacted by the resilience of true stories like Homeless to Harvard, and Born into Brothels. 

 

Or the story of the boats that rescued thousands of New Yorkers on 9/11. I have watched this video half a dozen times and it still fills me to the brim with hope.

 

Which is one of my favorite things.