More in Common Than Apart

I took my dog to the vet this week. Nothing major — just a routine visit. As I walked into the waiting room, I noticed two people sitting a few chairs apart, each with a dog that clearly wanted nothing more than to leave. One dog paced in small anxious circles; the other pressed nervously against its owner’s leg.

The two owners were chatting, smiling at each other, swapping stories about how their dogs hated the vet, how they had to trick them into the car, how treats only worked up to a point. It was warm, ordinary, and genuine — the kind of simple human connection that’s easy to overlook.

Then I noticed what they were wearing. One had on a Trump T-shirt. The other, a Biden–Harris cap.

For a second, I just took that in. Two people who, in today’s world, might be expected to argue, to glare, to turn away. But they weren’t. They were laughing together — united, not by politics, but by the shared experience of loving something small, nervous, and important to them.

That moment stuck with me.

In a time when everything seems designed to divide us, it was a quiet reminder that we still have far more in common than apart. Every person you meet loves something or someone. A dog. A child. A partner. A dream. That shared capacity for love — not hate — is what holds us together as a human race.

We’ve become so accustomed to seeing people as symbols of their beliefs that we forget they’re individuals with entire histories behind those beliefs. Every perspective has roots — in upbringing, in experience, in pain or hope.

You don’t have to agree with someone to understand them.
You just have to care enough to try.

The Gift of Perspective

I’ve been fortunate to spend part of my life outside the United States. I was raised in Germany, surrounded by people who saw the world through different lenses — politically, socially, and culturally. Europeans tend to think about government, community, and global responsibility in ways that come from centuries of shared borders, wars, and reconciliation. It’s a perspective that makes you think not just about your country, but about our world.

And one of the simplest, most powerful things I noticed was language. Almost everyone I knew spoke two languages — sometimes three or four. That ability to step between words, to think in another tongue, changes you. It makes you better at listening. It teaches empathy. You realize how differently people express the same ideas — and how much meaning hides in nuance.

Living among people of different beliefs and backgrounds didn’t make my convictions weaker; it made them wiser. It helped me understand that disagreement doesn’t have to mean division. It taught me that strength comes not from isolation, but from the ability to learn from others — to see the world through more than one window.

The Danger of Demonization

There’s a growing habit — online, in media, in politics — to demonize people who think differently. It’s powerful, because once we stop seeing others as human, it becomes easier to justify almost anything: cruel words, public humiliation, even violence. It dulls our empathy and gives us permission to treat people as enemies instead of neighbors.

But this narrative isn’t born from truth. It’s a tool — one that feeds on fear. It simplifies a complex world into “us” and “them,” and it keeps us distracted, divided, and easier to control. When you hear someone speaking with hate, pause and ask yourself:

Why does this individual want to demonize others? What do they gain from this behavior?

Usually, the answer is power.
Fear gives power to those who sow it.
Understanding takes that power back.

The waiting room that day wasn’t just a place for dogs. It was a small, living reminder that empathy still exists quietly among us — and that every time we choose understanding over judgment, we weaken fear’s grip and strengthen something far more enduring: our shared humanity.