I recently returned from teaching a seven-day Metta retreat at the Insight Meditation Society. Metta is the ancient Buddhist word translated as “lovingkindness”—an unconditional goodwill that connects us through our shared longing to be happy. It’s our innate capacity for human warmth which can be developed into an unshakeable, inner resource.
In these times of great change, with political instability, economic uncertainty, and climate catastrophes, it’s natural to feel overwhelmed. The rapid pace of change and the intensity of events can leave us disoriented.
Some of us withdraw into the comfort of familiar routines or echo chambers. Others find ourselves compulsively checking the news, anxious to stay informed yet increasingly helpless to do anything about it. Neither response helps.
I believe what is called for now is something quieter and stronger—a wise balance of self-care and enduring, radical love for one another. Balance begins right where we are, with whatever we’re feeling.
For me, this often shows up in the tender ache of parenthood—holding our baby against my chest, feeling her body completely relaxed and trusting; looking at pictures of wild animals with our toddler and sensing the anticipatory grief of the day he learns how humans have damaged our planet. These moments undo me. They keep me close to what matters and drive me to keep finding a love wide and deep enough to meet this world as it is.
For many, this moment touches deep wells of grief, fear, and anger. If that’s true for you, it’s okay. It’s entirely human. Your emotions aren’t a problem. Difficult emotions are part of meeting insecurity. We don’t have to push them away or be consumed by them. We can learn to hold them wisely.
Start where you are. It’s okay to resist it. It’s okay to fall apart. It’s okay to be a mess. Sometimes we need to turn away from the pain to nourish ourselves. Then, when we’re ready, we return and tend to the wound.
As Rumi wrote, "The pain is the cure for the pain." The medicine is here, within each of us. As we attend to our pain, it opens and reveals our love. Holding our pain, we touch the depth of our heart and remember how vast it truly is.
Finding Steadiness in the Midst of Suffering
When we allow suffering to teach us, it strengthens us. Over time, we discover a quiet confidence—not because we avoid hurt or loss, but because we understand its universal and temporary nature. And in that knowing, there is freedom. Not from life’s hardships, but from the fear that they will crush us. This is the power of the dharma: to free us from fear, isolation, and despair, to steady us in the midst of it all.
To do this, we need nourishment. Some of us might need time in nature. Others might need connection: to speak with a trusted friend or sit quietly in community. Taking small, meaningful actions can soothe helplessness and channel anxiety into purpose.
But none of this can be sustained if we’re relying solely on external conditions to settle our hearts. We need something deeper than momentary pleasure, sturdier than distraction.
Where do we find refuge when the world feels like too much? What does the heart truly know at its core? For me, the answer comes back to love.
Not love as sentimentality or a fleeting feeling—but love as an inner resource. Love as a steady, sustaining force. Love as the deepest knowing of our relatedness with all of life. Love transforms grief by reminding us that we hurt because we care. Love transforms fear by reconnecting us to one another. Love transforms anger by guiding it into courageous, wise action.
Love isn’t only something we offer outwardly. It’s something we return to inwardly, again and again—a well we draw from, a practice we cultivate. When the heart breaks, love mends it. When the mind spins out, love brings it home.
This needn’t be abstract. It happens in small, everyday ways. Love might look like stepping outside to feel the wind on your face. Love might sound like telling a friend, “I see how hard this is for you.” Love might mean turning off the news, cooking a meal, or resting your hand on your heart for a breath or two.
Slowly, gently, these moments sustain us. They reconnect us with our inner resources so that we can keep showing up—for ourselves, for one another, and for this fragile world we share.
This is the power of love. Not to try to fix everything. Not to tidy the chaos of life. But to hold us in its embrace as we navigate the storms of our time.
Regardless of one’s political views, I believe that we need each other. The solutions to our short- and long-term challenges depend on us building bridges and working together. We don’t have to do this alone. We can practice together and lean on one another.
If you’d like to practice in community, I warmly invite you to join me online next month for our hybrid retreat, “Steadying the Heart: Refuge through the Four Sublime States.” Learn more here.
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