It so happens that my December 28 birthday comes at the end of the year too, and marking another year on earth also gets the old noggin pondering life. Maybe it’s especially appropriate given I was born among the darkest days of the year here in New England, that this year I’m thinking a lot about how we keep the light blazing amidst the darkness.

The thing is, reflecting back on 2017, my 32nd year on Earth, I can’t help but think it was a great one for me personally. It was the year my son joined our family, bringing about a wholeness I didn’t even realize I was missing. It was another year of good health for me and my family, filled with the laughs (and a healthy serving of frustration) that come along with raising a two-year-old. It was one where I expanded my role again at Oxfam too, which has been a place that consistently challenges me to grow, and from which I come home feeling good about the fact that I’m contributing, even in a small way, to make the world a better place.

Ah yes, the world…

It’s the the world that had a less than stellar 365 days. The strange thing about my good year is that it happened amidst the tumult. The reality of having a vile narcissist run our country has sunk in, and it has played out in damaging ways for people in the US and around the world. Amidst the daily drama, people continue to perish due to completely preventable causes; hunger, violence, extreme poverty, climate change. I’m exposed daily to aspects of that reality through my work at Oxfam. 2017 was a tough one to stay optimistic about not only due to the awful things happening here and across the world, but because we remain divided in ways that feel insurmountable, and therefore remain impotent in the face of these real challenges facing us all.

It was a year where we had to come to terms with the fact that people we know and love have very different perspectives and feelings about our shared society. A year where we have had to deal with the uncertainty that comes with an inept, loose-cannon president. It all takes a toll.

On the bright side, it was also year where I both got to experience U2 live again at Gillette, as well as a whole new album from the band.

Okay, I know, rough transition. I haven’t blogged in a while. Stay with me.

For anyone who knows me well enough at this point, you know U2 is my life-journey soundtrack (i.e. this speech, I gave). Seeing them play their masterpiece album, Joshua Tree, live at Gillette was certainly a highlight of my 2017. The deepest meaning from U2 came to me through their new album though.

To be honest, I was cautious in embracing Songs of Experience. I wasn’t a huge fan of the last album, and I was sort of preparing myself for some disappointment, which isn’t easy when you call yourself a superfan. Then something sort of amazing clicked, in the way that only music can make happen. I listened to the album as a whole for the first time as I stood in my living room holding my new son. Like the Grinch atop that hill on Christmas morning, I felt my heart open up and grow three sizes. Sure, it was a relief to love the new music from my favorite band. More than that though, I felt moved in the ways that U2 has moved me from the very beginning.

Why? Because in that moment, holding this beautiful new life in my arms, I realized that the spark that lit the way for me over a decade ago, that changed the course of my life and led me to find passion in the cause of social justice, in making the world a better place, had started to dim. It happened without me really knowing, in that insidious way that cynicism operates. It revealed itself in that moment, and as I listened to this music, cynicism began to melt away. Oh yeah, there were tears.

Sometimes
I’m full of anger and grieving
So far away from believing
That any song will reappear
-U2, The Little Things That You Give Away

Funny enough, as I’ve reflected back on this topic, I realized I wrote about it eight years ago, just a few months after beating cancer. That’s the thing about cynicism though—if it goes unchecked, it’ll get ya! The Songs of Experience album, with songs like “Love is Bigger Than Anything in Its Way”, presents U2 at perhaps their most earnest and optimistic. And at first, that can be a lot to handle given the state of things. But it was as I listened to that very song, literally holding A New Hope (had to squeeze a Star Wars reference in here), I was overcome with the reminder of what this is all about, after all. Love IS bigger. As U2 proclaim in this song, “when you think you’re done, you’ve just begun.”

This all sounds terribly dramatic. It was a pretty damn dramatic year for our country though. And while I certainly hadn’t given up or given in entirely to cynicism, it was a big reveal to recognize just how much the events of the last couple of years have put a chill on optimism. That icy negativity has been in the air constantly; we’re breathing it every day.

This journey we’re all on together, it is unique to each of us, but at the same time it isn’t. We’ve all got to figure this shit out. (And there’s plenty of shit to figure out!) As we get more experienced, there’s a tendency to harden up about it all. To be soft, to be open, is to be vulnerable. Young and naive. That’s what love is all about though, isn’t it? We’re open to being completely devastated, but we’re also open to a truly meaningful life where we can do good. That’s an area I’m continuing to explore in 2018 and you can expect to hear more about in part 2 of this blog (yes, part 2 of this already lengthy blog. You read that right.)

As a parent now, with the responsibility to nurture hopeful, responsible human beings, I so appreciate the lessons that U2 are trying to share with their own children in this latest album. Give it a listen. Or not! But find a way to keep your cynicism in check this year. For all of our sakes, but yours most especially.

I’ll leave it at that, and with these words from the last song on the album:

I know the world is done
But you don’t have to be
I’ve got a question for the child in you before it leaves
Are you tough enough to be kind?
Do you know your heart has its own mind?
Darkness gathers around the light
Hold on
Hold on

There is a light
We can’t always see
If there is a world
We can’t always be
If there is a dark
That we shouldn’t doubt
And there is a light
Don’t let it go out

-U2, 13 (There is a Light)

I’m not a person who is particularly good at relaxing. I am often seeking out relaxation, but rarely do I feel like I’ve attained that state. And I’m pretty sure this is in no way a dilemma that is unique to me. We have more options than ever before and we are forced to make countless choices throughout our day. (I thought about trying to add them up for a day, but I’m getting overwhelmed just thinking about it!)

So there’s the problem of too many choices, which feels of particular concern in our day and age. I think underneath that though, there is a more fundamental issue at work. For me, I feel uneasy about not ‘doing’ something at any given moment. Time feels precious—certainly it did as I started the blog after my cancer diagnosis eight years ago, and it does again in a big way now that I have a child. Time is precious in that it feels as though it is passing much more quickly, as marked by my daughter’s speed-of-light development before my eyes. I savor every moment with her.

I also savor the time I get with my wife and by myself—when my daughter is napping or in that rare case as when I started writing this blog, she’s at daycare while my wife and I have a day off.

It is as I hold this tight grasp on time that my dilemma persists. How do we fill our time most meaningfully?

I think it goes right back to what I have defined as the purpose of this blog, an exploration driven by these two questions: From where do we derive meaning in our lives? How can we live more meaningful lives?

It isn’t often enough that I stop and think about my time in in those terms. I think maybe there is danger in obsessing—trying to optimize every second to the point that we’ve got it all planned out. But I do think there is value in taking audit of how we actually spend our time, particularly those stretches that aren’t pre-planned. It’s easy to fill up our days with the stuff we have to do. Work and sleep snatch up like two-thirds of our day right off the bat. What about the rest?

My realization as I work through this; consumption is the path of least resistance, especially in our culture. Consuming stuff is addictive and it’s easy. I can scroll through Facebook endlessly to find interesting posts. Or I can throw on the TV and watch a great show. I can pop on a podcast or open a book. Don’t get me wrong, there’s meaning to be discovered in these things. But I think the balance between consuming and creating often goes ignored.

I use that word, ‘creating’, specifically because it also stands apart from ‘producing’. I’m usually just as likely to use my free time to start cleaning the house, work on a project, or do some work as I am to watch TV or consume something. Once again, there is value in producing too! I think if we’re fully present, we can actually derive a great deal of meaning from producing and consuming. The question is, do we take the time to process that meaning?

In Viola Davis’ Oscar acceptance speech (so glad she won!), she said, “I became an artist—and thank God I did—because we are the only profession that celebrates what it means to live a life.” When I first heard those words, they rubbed me the wrong way, as if Davis was speaking down to other professions, which of course can carry great meaning as well. The more I’ve thought about her words though, the more I think I understand.

When I say create, it is art in it’s broadest sense that I’m speaking of. We don’t all get to make a living as artists, but I think we’re all capable of creating art. I agree with the notion that art celebrates what it means to life a life. Whatever the art form, there is an exploration of life at its core. And in that exploration, we find meaning.

So where the hell am I going with all of this. And how will it inform how I spend this dwindling time?

Well, here it is. I’m writing. It isn’t a masterpiece, but it’s art! I’m taking some time in my day to create.

To be honest, that’s always been the most fulfilling part of blogging. I love being able to share my writing, and I certainly appreciate feedback I receive (as an extrovert, that is definitely some good fuel!). Even if nobody reads this, however, it is the act of writing it from which I think the most meaning is derived. I write when I have something I want to explore further. Of course this has led to several writings I’ve never bothered to share.

Sometimes creating, for me, means writing a blog. I’m thankful to have discovered this creative outlet. Screenwriting and filmmaking are a couple other options for me that I’d like to do more often. I wish playing an instrument could be one—there’s time still for the guitar to finally take to me—but the point is, there is a creative outlet for us all. I think it’s worth spending some time with yours.

Creating might be the best way—maybe the only way—for us humans to truly process and share what is meaningful.

How did we get here? I don’t know about you, but i’m still wracking my brain on that one.

Some nights while I lie in bed, I run through the night the world flipped over. It fell after a hope-filled day; we’d finally have a woman leading our country. Slowly, that hope was swallowed up. The numbers betrayed us. A firewall swiftly fell. I remember lying half-awake, feeling the weight of the news sink into my sleep.

I remember waking up the morning after election day, hearing a plane overhead. Something bad was going to happen. Were we under attack already?

How the hell did this happen? And where do we go from here?

I have family and friends whom I love, and whom I believe voted to put a villain at the helm of our ship. How could any reasonable, any good person look at this man’s actions, hear his words, and support him? I struggle deeply with this question, as I’m sure many of you do.

Maybe you’ve even asked this question: is the dark reality that these dear friends and family are, in fact, bad people? That’s how divided we are right now. And finding a path back to unity feels terribly far away.

Because the reality is, of course, that we all have unique perspectives. We see the world very differently from each other. That’s the only reason this cancer survivor bothered to share his perspective through this blog in the first place.

Perspective shapes our decisions in life. It shapes everything. I can appreciate that. But then, that means there aren’t implicitly wrong or right perspectives. It means my perspective is no more right than the perspectives that led people to vote for Donald Trump. How can that be?

It feels critical to me that we try to understand each other’s perspectives. I don’t think that’s the end of it though. Because while I avoid binary thinking like the plague, I also do not subscribe to moral subjectivism–a notion that we set our own individual moral truths. The truth is out there.

It’s true that our perspectives are ours alone. But I think there might be some deep flaws in how we arrive at our reality. There are cracks through which our perspectives grow distorted. And through that distortion there may lie a very ugly world.

I don’t know where the cracks in my perspective are exactly, but I know for sure that I’ve got them. And I know I need to spend more time working on them.

The distorted world many of us see, amplified in our echo chambers and stoked by alternative facts, show people on two sides. That’s not reality. It never has been. At our best, America is not a land of us and them, it’s a land of we. We are a whole messy mix of people who continue to fuck up big time, yet doggedly coexist. We progress.

Here’s the but, and it’s a big one; progress doesn’t just happen. Time does not generate progress, movement does. Movements throughout history have shown us that progress demands persistence, and progress is painful.

My hope is that in this painful time, we find ourselves and each other again. I’m not there yet. I’m still finding my way. I’m still mad as hell that we now have a president who is, in my estimation, a wrecking ball smashing up against progress. I’m afraid that my daughter will have to grow up in a dark new world.

So I’ll resist.

I’ll resist with millions of others in the streets and on the web. I’ll resist with my work for justice each day. I’ll resist by loving people with a whole spectrum of perspectives. And I’ll do my best to work together to fashion a reality where we work together.

And yet, the issues that plague humanity seem to multiply infinitely ahead of us. Is this how it feels for every generation?

As an activist, I was awe-struck after watching the film Selma last year. I immediately decided to read Martin Luther King Jr.’s autobiography, some excerpts from which I will share here. I continue to be filled with awe by these words and the actions that they inspired.

MLK and the people marching with him, they got shit done. They changed laws. They created laws. Just as important, if not more, they were able to change the hearts and minds of people across the United States and even the world.

There’s a heart-wrenching moment in the movie where Dr. King, consoling a grandfather who just lost his grandson, Jimmie Lee Jackson, says to him, “There are no words to soothe you. But I know one thing for certain: God was the first to cry.”

How many people have died in this fight against injustice. How many continue to die in the face of it? How many more must we lose? With each, I now picture God shedding tears; crying at the loss of the person and the loss of the humanity that he created. We are a humanity that daily fails to take care of each other.

“I have the audacity to believe that peoples everywhere can have three meals a day for their bodies, education and culture for their minds, and dignity, equality, and freedom for their spirits.”

Surely, God created us with the belief that we possess everything we need to take care of each other. But do we truly believe that all people deserve the same as us?

“Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere. We are caught in an inescapable network of mutuality, tied in a single garment of destiny. Whatever affects one directly, affects all indirectly”

We’re all bound up in this together at the end of the day. That only becomes more apparent as the web of globalization reaches out further, touching every corner of the world. At the same time that everything becomes more visible, however, it all becomes less visible.

Whereas the people marching in Selma were standing up for the dignity and rights of each other, hand in hand, we often are trying to stand up for the rights of people we will never even see, nevermind meet. Is it possible to stand, boldly, fearlessly in the same way? Can we really walk arm in arm across the bridge together with a family fleeing Syria? Can we stand up with a child in South Sudan?

Tweet this, email that, sign here. These actions give us a way to plugin to the fight against injustice. But is it enough?

“I refuse to accept the idea that the “is-ness” of man’s present nature makes him morally incapable of reaching up for the eternal “ought-ness” that forever confronts him.”

I think we’re trying. We want to do good. My generation is one that is still finding our way–figuring out new and better ways to do have an impact on the world. We haven’t got it exactly right yet, but the interconnectedness today holds so much promise for tomorrow. The thing is, we have to work at it. We can’t assume it will happen on its own. As Dr. King states so clearly, it never does.

“Human progress never rolls in on wheels of inevitability; it comes through the tireless efforts of men willing to be co-workers with God, and without this hard work, time itself becomes an ally of the forces of social stagnation. We must use time creatively, in the knowledge that the time is always ripe to do right.”

The time is always ripe to do right. That path lay before us, always. But it can be a damn tough one to embark upon. On this day, we celebrate the decision to do right in this world, whatever the cost.

“Make a career of humanity. Commit yourself to the noble struggle for equal rights. You will make a greater person of yourself, a greater nation of your country, and a finer world to live in.”

One of the stories about labor that stuck with me was described by the comedian Louis C.K. on a podcast I listen to (WTF with Marc Maron). He talks about this moment right after his wife delivered where he had to decide whether to attend to her as she was cut open in the other room or stay with his little newborn daughter who was lying helplessly crying. It was this concrete moment where the addition to their family instantly became real. He knew he had to stay with his daughter.

I found myself in a similar situation, though there was no choice to make. Just twenty minutes after she gave birth to our daughter, my heroic wife was rolled off into the operating room due to a complication. Watching her be rolled out of the room, still shaking and with tears running down her face, was gut-wrenching, to say the least. I wanted to go with her. Like Louis, however, my role as a dad had begun. I sat with my daughter on my chest, her warm skin touching mine, welcoming her into this world, praying that mom would come back to us soon. We spent this quiet time alone together, she adjusting to a new, scary place, and me adjusting to the notion that this baby was mine.

Mom did come back to us. And we three went to bed that night thankful that we were at one of the best hospitals in the country, as we slowly soaked in our new reality.

Sleep came easy to our exhausted bodies. Sleep that has become a precious commodity now! That morning, I held my daughter in my arms as she slept, with my wife asleep on the other side of me, and looked out a window that featured a beautiful Boston skyline. The aroma from a bouquet of flowers filled the air. It was perfect. I thought more about her; the meaning behind the name that we had given her. The idea that we could finally call her  by name. Our daughter was really here. And in this serene, Lifetime movie setting, the tears rolled on down. A coworker of mine had described to me what I was feeling now: with a new child comes a new heart that grows inside of you.

Louis C.K. also talked about how with all the preparation towards the big day it still feels like you’re going to go into the hospital for the procedure and then you and your wife are going to go home together, business as usual. The idea that you are going home with another human being who will change your life forever is just too much to really grasp until it comes. I was struck suddenly with this on the day that we left the hospital. They’re letting us leave now with this baby?! Will we be able to take care of her on our own? There are so many other people and germs out there! My heart raced.

Don’t get me wrong, the thought of finally leaving our cramped little room after being in the hospital for four days was delightful, but it was also scary to think we’d no longer live in that supportive bubble. Our daughter would be exposed to the real world. And our new role as parents would become crystal clear.

Four weeks later, we’ve managed things. We’ve kept our daughter alive and well. (Go us!) Our home feels more complete now. Yes, I’m less rested than I used to be. Yes, every day is new and I have to give up almost all sense of control, which can be difficult. But honestly, I’m feeling more at peace these days. The anticipation and all that goes into preparing for a baby is nerve-wracking. The time has finally come. Challenge: accepted. New chapter: commence.

That lens will always be important. And now I’ve got a new one to add to my kit. One that I am certain will let a whole new light in, to see the world in a different way: fatherhood.

*gasp!*

Okay, lots of drama. It was in the title for crying out loud. But honestly, just writing that word—fatherhood—gives me goosebumps. In just six weeks I’m going to be a dad, and that is f’n crazy. Don’t get me wrong, this was all part of the plan. My wife and I knew we wanted to have kids. Parents that I talked to would tell me, you’ll know when you’re ready. And I definitely feel ready.

Recently I was caught chatting with a friend who is a dad about how to make our own baby food. A coworker, and mother of two, overheard and stopped us in the middle, stunned and impressed to hear two dads having this sort of conversation.

Baby food aside, there’s some pretty raw matter being formed right now in my head and heart. Already we had our first scare; a complication pretty early on in the pregnancy. Going in for an emergency ultrasound was actually the scariest moment in my life, I think. Waiting, hand-in-hand with my wife, to see on the screen that little heart beating. My own cancer diagnosis was a walk in the park compared to this. Fortunately, everything turned out just fine.

Now the delightful anticipation continues. What a gift it is, to be able to bring a child into the world. I can’t wait to meet you. Will you be a girl or a boy? That’s the first question, right? But much more important, who will you really be? What sort of person?

What a responsibility. There’s the physical taking care of you part, which I’m sure will be plenty of work, but then there is the shaping of a human being. That feels like a whole other level of responsibility.

I’ll do my best to help you grow into the person you are supposed to be, not the person I think you should be. I have hopes, sure. I hope you will be a caring person. I hope you will learn to be empathetic, from your mother especially. I worry about the world you will be born into. It is a beautiful place. And yet so many people struggle everyday. We are fortunate.

My primary concern will always be your future. That means I need to be concerned with the future of our planet and everyone else on it too. I want to teach you Ubuntu: I am because we are. This will be truer than ever for me. I am, because you are. I am yours. You are because we are and because everyone else is.

I try to be a better global citizen, but we’re only just beginning to see our life that way. Even when I was younger, we were not so connected to each other. As the world gets fuller, with more people, it also gets smaller. How small it will be when you grow up. We cannot forget how fortunate we are. We have to give back, always. Because in the end, we didn’t really earn all of this. It belongs to everyone. Our fate was partially decided by the place we were born.

The road ahead will be full of turns and bumps, I’m sure. I can’t predict what will come and so I can’t say how I’ll respond. But as I’ve written about earlier, I can be fully present. That, in and of itself, will be so important. In the sleepless nights, the long days—I will be present for you.

Filmed over twelve years, this narrative fiction tells the story of a boy, his sister, and his parents as they all grow up together. This long-term filming has never been done before for a fictional piece and the result is breathtaking. At the forefront, it captures and serves as a commentary on the passing of time. It struck like a lightning bolt of nostalgia when I first saw the film in in July. “Dear God, so many moments have passed so quickly already in my life,” I thought. And as I’ve reflected on that over the last several months, I’ve decided to focus more purposefully on time in this new year. I’m going to build a time machine.

Just kidding. Though, maybe watching a movie is as close as we can come to entering a time machine right now. I apparently have a habit of using movies as focal points for my new year. This blog has been a place for me to think through where and how I derive meaning in life, and often that is inspired by art.

As I think about how to “plan out” my 2015, I realized the standard list of things I’d like to accomplish just wasn’t cutting it. For example, I’d love to pursue more creative projects this year. But what will they be? Should I resolve to write blogs more frequently and consistently through the year? Should I resolve to produce a short film? Another music video? Should I take more photos? I’d love to do all of these things, frankly. I think, though, that what I love most is the process of creating. The meaning, for me, comes more from the process than the output. And while I find it difficult to control the output of any of these things—just how many and which type of blogs or videos I’ll produce—I can control the space I give to the creative half (quarter? tenth?) of my brain. I can allocate time simply for the process without an end in sight. And that’s exactly what I’m doing in this new year: two and a half hours every week, at a minimum, will be set aside for creative time.

This may not sound like much of an epiphany; that my resolution can simply be to carve out a set amount of time to work on creative endeavors. But it was a big realization for me.

Here’s the bigger deal: we’ve all got a set amount of time on this planet. It flies the hell by. I mean, really. It was over five years ago that I started this blog. Over five years ago that I graduated college and then fought off cancer. Since then, I’ve traveled to Rwanda, Greece, Ethiopia, the Caribbean (twice), Hungary, Austria and up, down, left and right, in the US. I’ve married my (beautiful) wife, bought a condo, sold it, and bought a house. I’ve started a career as a communicator and global citizen at Oxfam, working in three different roles so far. I’ve filmed a bunch and written a bunch more. Oh, and I went on stage with U2. That was a pretty big deal.

Each of those accomplishments had amazing moments attached. And in the time in-between, a heck of a lot happened too. It is all of those moments, in and of themselves, that really matter.

My realization this year is that we don’t have to passively allow these moments to flow by us. We can’t control all (most) of the stuff that happens in that time. But we have agency in how we spend the time we’re given. It’s in focusing less on the output and more on how you spend your time—giving more to the stuff and the people that energize you, less to the stuff and people that sap you, and being fully present for all of it—that you can live a more meaningful life.

Well, that’s my hypothesis anyway. Let’s see how it plays out this year. After all, as the father in Boyhood responds when his son asks him what the point of it all is, “I mean, I sure as shit don’t know…We’re all just winging it…”

But the next morning, as I continued to mull things over, a thought struck sharp and deep: Right now, as I obsess over upgrading my living situation, there are millions of refugees who have fled Syria and are without any homes at all. Read the rest of this post on Oxfam’s First Person blog.

Well, not a blog exactly about The Lord of the Rings, as much as it is about a particular scene from one of The Lord of the Rings movies. Yes, I think about scenes from fantasy movies in my spare time. The funny thing about this one is that it randomly came up twice in the matter of a couple of weeks and from completely different places—a sign that’s probably worth paying attention to.

I was explaining to my friend John how I enjoyed the latest two The Hobbit movies, but that they just didn’t seem to have the same depth as The Lord of the Rings movies. I don’t care much about any of the characters aside from the protagonist, Bilbo Baggins, and I don’t feel much emotional connection to the story either. But with The Lord of the Rings trilogy, it was different. Sure, there are several action-packed fantasy moments and dozens of quotes I still geek out over with friends, but there were also rich characters and beautiful moments that stuck with you. Hey, they stuck with me anyway.

I’ll cut to the chase and point out the scene I talked to John about and, to my delighted surprise, the same scene that Dr. Paul Farmer references in a speech he gave at the University of Miami in 2004, which is featured in his book I’m now reading, To Repair the World: Paul Farmer Speaks to the Next Generation. It happens in The Lord of The Rings: Two Towers, in a moment where everything is going to… shit, for lack of a better word. If you saw the movie you’ll likely remember this exchange between Frodo, the protagonist, and his incredibly loyal friend, Samwise Gamgee.

If you haven’t seen the movie yet (you should!), you may want to read the quote below rather than watch the video clip which sort of contains spoilers.

Frodo: I can’t do this, Sam.

Sam: I know. It’s all wrong. By rights we shouldn’t even be here. But we are. It’s like in the great stories, Mr. Frodo. The ones that really mattered. Full of darkness and danger, they were. And sometimes you didn’t want to know the end. Because how could the end be happy? How could the world go back to the way it was when so much bad had happened? But in the end, it’s only a passing thing, this shadow. Even darkness must pass. A new day will come. And when the sun shines it will shine out the clearer. Those were the stories that stayed with you. That meant something, even if you were too small to understand why. But I think, Mr. Frodo, I do understand. I know now. Folk in those stories had lots of chances of turning back, only they didn’t. They kept going. Because they were holding on to something.

Frodo: What are we holding onto, Sam?

Sam: That there’s some good in this world, Mr. Frodo… and it’s worth fighting for.

Why am I bringing this up? Why does it resonate with me so much? For the same reason it stuck with Dr. Farmer, I guess. Because even though we don’t have an evil, fiery eye staring down, plotting to destroy our world, with goblins, orcs, and countless other treacherous creatures wreaking havoc, the world we live in is so very convoluted and can feel like it’s overflowing with more darkness than any place J.R.R. Tolkien could have dreamed up on Middle Earth. The conflict in Syria is but one example: over two million people have fled violent conflict that began nearly three years ago. Half of the refugees are children. Many lack proper clothing, shelter, and fuel even amidst these cold winter months. There are far too many examples across the world today in which suffering and deprivation are the norm. Almost one in every three people live in poverty.

“It’s all wrong. By rights we shouldn’t even be here.”

How true that feels. It’s hard think about how in the 21st century, at a time when we’ve come so far in so many ways, we’ve left so much wrong in the world. Cynicism takes over. It’s easy to lose hope in the world and in your ability to shape it into a better place—or even to make any difference at all. But is that the end of the story? Is it the narrative you want to live?

Every day there are people making a difference, overcoming incredible obstacles. There are real stories of people who light the way. My colleague Coco McCabe writes stories of three such women she met during her recent travels to Ethiopia. And there are people like Dr. Farmer, with an abundance of these stories to share and who presents an incredible story himself, dedicating his life to bringing quality health care to people who otherwise would have none.  I read these stories and I think back to the character Samwise; the gardener thrown into an epic adventure upon which the fate of the world rests. By most measures, they and we have reason to throw our hands in the air and give up. We’ll all have bad days where we feel like doing just that. But as Sam says so perfectly, “There’s some good in this world, Mr. Frodo… and it’s worth fighting for.”

We can’t single-handedly upgrade the world to the fair, just, and peaceful place we want to see, but as Dr. Farmer explains to the graduating class of future doctors, “So what if you can’t work 37 miracles in whatever time is accorded you? There’s so much you can do, humbly, persistently.” There’s so much we can do.

This year, it’s my goal to keep that narrative at top of mind. Working at Oxfam America is one big way I’ve chosen to commit my life, persistently and humbly, to helping. But it doesn’t end there. One small commitment I’ve laid on top of my job—and one for which I’m so grateful for the support I’ve received so far—is a fun (and healthy!) fundraising project I’m calling #4K4Oxfam. I’ll run a 4K every week this year, sponsored by your donations to Oxfam America, to help people around the world lift themselves and their communities out of poverty.

My contributions to this world are small, and there is always so much more I can do, but they do make a difference. That’s a narrative I plan to explore more deeply this year through this blog. Because together we can toss that ring into Mount Doom and make things right in this world. “A new day will come. And when the sun shines it will shine out the clearer.”

After finally catching up with the finale of Breaking Bad, I got to thinking about how many crazy good TV shows there are these days – Mad Men, Walking Dead, Game of Thrones, to name a few. They all have incredible production value, especially compared to older TV productions. Of course there have been countless good TV shows in the past, but it feels as though TV has only recently matched the quality of movies. The relationship between TV and movies has long been akin to siblings competing for attention.

First there was the big screen, in all it’s glory: A train rushed forward, seemingly through the screen, sending an audience running in panic and claiming a dominant space for movies forever more. Then, television sets entered living-rooms in the nineteen forties and fifties. You could watch moving pictures in your own home! I can only imagine how incredible that must have been (sorry, born in 1985). Would this be the end of movie theaters? Hardly. Color came to movies first, making them all the more lifelike. Of course it was only a matter of time before TV sets would master the technology as well. Theaters had increasingly great sound and image quality – and eventually the 16:9 wide screens. But it’s younger brother was gaining fast. Alas, the home theater, with Dolby surround sound and high-definition 1080p, flat-panel widescreen televisions put a stake right through the big screen’s heart. 3D may be the movie industry’s last gasp for air. TV sucked it right up. Word is still out on whether 3D, which has far improved since its last attempts in the 1950s and 1980s-90s, will make much difference.

Okay, so the race for the best technology continues. But the fact is, TV technology is far enough along that it can beautifully present high-quality productions like Breaking Bad. It’s no longer a second-tier outlet for directors, writers, actors and the rest of the entertainment industry. And so much of the storytelling and production quality has drastically improved. At least that’s my take on it, which, by the way, I’m sure is in no way a novel one and misses many important details!

And of course I’m leaving out another sibling. The Internet is younger and likely more revolutionary than her older siblings. As the lines get blurrier and the Internet continues to fragment and democratize most entertainment mediums, it will be interesting to see just how much the quality of programming changes, for better and for worse.