How old do you think this toy horse is? 40 years? 80 years, tops?
It’s somewhere between 1600 and 2000 years old. It was excavated from Karanis, Egypt, and is on display at the Kelsey Museum of Archaeology (item 3772). I viewed it over the weekend and was amazed by when I saw it.
It’s incredible to think that some children nearly 2000 years ago rolled this little horsey around, making it journey across rocks, and floors, and walls, probably making neighing sounds just like our kids do.
Some adult with a name that we will never know made the hole for an eye. Maybe we can imagine our parents or grandparents finding a way to carve out that eye hole.
So if we can feel so much commonality across time — if we can imagine people’s uniqueness but also see how similar, and tender, and recognizable they are across time —
— is there any reason we can’t honor the same across geography and borders in our own time? The children who play and the parents and grandparents who love them have dreams, and affection, and worth, just like our own.
My bicycle odometer — 2071.6 miles, ridden on streets beginning with A-C.
Well, friends, I’m back with another update on my most inefficient, most adventurous Ann Arbor exploration project. For those of you who might be new to this journey, here’s the quick recap: I’m riding my e-bike to every street in Ann Arbor in alphabetical order. I’m riding from my house to each street, appreciating the process. As of today, I’ve finished all the streets beginning with the letter C, bringing my total mileage to 2071.6 miles!
Though this project has some structure (after all, it’s in alphabetical order), by doing this, I’ve been able to curate some randomness and spontaneity. On any given day, I don’t know exactly where I’m going to go or what my route is going to be until I put the street into Google Maps and plot my process.
There are days when I feel like I have to check a lot of boxes: Are my emails answered? Did I call everyone back? Is my house clean? Did I text this person and set up our plans? Did I finish what’s needed next for the (conference, event, support group)? Did I do my German lesson?
These don’t always get done every day, of course, but I can find myself managing a lot in my mind. It has been nothing short of joyous to let a route be chosen for me and allow myself to be surprised by what I discover.
Slow projects like this one have a unique kind of magic. They remind us that not everything needs to be hurried or optimized. Sometimes, the best journeys are the ones that unfold slowly, letting us savor each small piece of the process. They teach us to appreciate the journey for what it is, rather than racing toward the end.
So here’s to slow projects, to taking our time, and to enjoying the ride—one street at a time. Ann Arborites, I’ll be down your roads… eventually.
Daily, I share beautiful things, but not everything in our world is beautiful.
Daily, I share beautiful things to remind us that this world is worth our delight and our care, but not all people are delighted in and cared for.
Daily, I share beautiful things to remind each of us that we matter deeply, thoroughly, and resoundingly, but some have asked for bread and are continually handed a snake or a stone.
Yesterday, a massacre has taken place in Northern Gaza, captured on video, with children, mothers, fathers, and friends burned alive. It would be just as devastating and horrific if it weren’t caught on camera. Yet it was, and the suffering is immense. In some sense, it is unspeakable beyond words, and yet words must be spoken and cries for protection must be heard.
Meanwhile, in all our own cities and towns, neighbors connected to the whole region — people from Palestine and Israel and Lebanon — fear for the safety of their loved ones as violence increases and intensifies there, and as anti-Semitism, Islamophobia, and xenophobia keep growing right here. It’s all on the rise, and it’s all so real. There is work to do, and there are relationships to care for right here, too. Every here. Every place.
Every cry of “Doesn’t my family matter to you?” is raw, and real, and right.
And so may we wake up to those cries and the needs for protection. And may we work for peace.
An Austrian village, seen from a ship on the Danube River
Over the summer, I had this lovely experience of expectation while on a Danube River Cruise in Europe. Each time we docked at a new location, there was a sense of adventure. Sometimes I would wake up in a brand-new place, and other times, I’d walk up to the sun deck and watch us arrive somewhere entirely unfamiliar.
We often had just one day, or even a half day, in each place. That fleeting feeling gave me a desire to make each moment count, explore fully, be present, and embrace everything the day had to offer.
Life isn’t always an adventurous river cruise, of course. Lately, I’ve felt more weighed down by responsibilities than by wanderlust. But I had a small reminder of that feeling recently.
On the trip, I often went up to the sundeck, walked laps, and practiced my German DuoLingo lessons in the mornings as we were arriving in a new place. Now, back home, I still do this every morning. Instead of laps on a sundeck, it’s a loop through my house. This combination of walking around the house while practicing German is something I did both before and after the trip.
And I wonder, could I greet an ordinary day the way I greeted those new places? Even if it’s not a grand adventure, even if it feels mundane or heavy, could I greet the day with a sense of expectation that this is the one I have, and that it, too, holds possibilities?
Not every day will be an exciting journey. But each day can be greeted like it matters because it does. This is the day we have. It has possibilities. Let’s see what it holds.
I first wrote this piece in 2021. It’s the right time of year to share it again!
Decorative Gourds
A few days ago, I spontaneously laughed aloud at the grocery store when I saw an assortment of decorative gourds. (Photo, above). In and of themselves, there’s nothing particularly funny about them. They just reminded me of something.
They reminded me of my first job. How many people can say this? As a high schooler, my first job ever was
Gourd Shellac-er.
Yep, I worked at a farm where my main task was to spray shellac on decorative gourds to make them SHINE. Shine with all their decorative glory!
And to me, the funniest thing about this is that when I later applied for my second high school job, the application asked for my previous employment history. I didn’t know what to write for my previous job title. So I wrote,
Gourd Technician.
What a ridiculous thing to say. I suppose partly this was for my own amusement. But the person interviewing me did actually ask, “So what is a Gourd Technician?” and I had to answer!
I think in the moment, I laughed about it, said I was a Gourd Shellac-er, but I didn’t know how to name that precisely on an application.
Thankfully, I got the serving job despite the oddities.
You know, if we pay attention throughout our day, I bet we can all find a bunch of silly, spontaneously memories. And they might just bring us some joy, as strange as they and we might be.
I was feeling the need for something spontaneous to happen. Got it!
Late last night, as soon as I saw people’s pictures emerging of the Northern Lights, I got myself in a car, still in jammies but with a blanket to cover myself, and I drove to one of the darkest places in my town where other people were congregating, too. We took this in together.
I love being an earthling. What an unexpected adventure.
I recently sat down with a young person who wants to get involved with the organization I serve. As I shared some possibilities for involvement, I watched her light up with excitement. I lit up, too, because I love working with young adults.
I left that meeting already energized. Then, while driving home, one of my favorite pieces of choral music came on shuffle. A year and a half ago, I had the chance to perform Gustav Mahler’s Symphony No. 2, the Resurrection Symphony, and I remember feeling so much joy while singing it that I was moved to tears. It was visceral, filled with meaning and gratitude. That music lights me up, too.
What lights you up?
In times of great change and anxiety, we need these moments — these sparks that keep us going. But maybe the world needs these moments from us as well.
As Howard Thurman once said, “Don’t ask what the world needs. Ask what makes you come alive, and go do it. Because what the world needs is people who have come alive.”
I recently attended a lecture by Dr. Keith Payne, a Professor of Psychology and Neuroscience at the University of North Carolina, who is changing the way we understand implicit bias — how it forms, how it operates, and how it functions within particular contexts.
We often think implicit bias works like this: When we are young, we absorb stereotypes and beliefs about race and ethnicity that begin to operate at a subconscious level. Unless we bring them to consciousness and challenge them, we assume they’ll stay fixed, deeply embedded in us.
But Dr. Payne’s research reveals something unique. It turns out that the context, the place, and the setting we’re in have a much bigger impact on the development and expression of implicit bias than we realize. For example, if someone takes an implicit bias test twice in the span of a couple of weeks, we might expect their results to stay roughly the same, right? Surprisingly, they don’t. The results can vary, sometimes quite widely.
However, while individual scores fluctuate, the collective score of a given place —say, a county— tends to stay remarkably constant. What’s even more telling is that the average implicit bias score of a county is highly correlated with levels of socioeconomic inequality, stratification, and segregation between racial and ethnic groups within that place. The context, the structures, and the markers of socioeconomic status and race shape implicit bias collectively.
This research offers a powerful insight: Implicit bias isn’t just an individual phenomenon. It’s a collective one, influenced deeply by our environment. And this brings us to an important takeaway. Implicit bias is not fixed, nor is it solely an individual problem. It’s shaped by systems, histories, and the settings we occupy.
This means that the work of changing implicit bias involves tackling systemic barriers and inequalities, but it also offers a profound opportunity. By making intentional changes in our contexts, we can reduce implicit bias.
When we change the context — by increasing diverse representation in leadership roles, creating more opportunities for voices from underrepresented groups to be heard, and actively working toward equity in our spaces — we’re not only working toward righting past wrongs. We’re actively reshaping the context that influences how implicit bias forms and expresses itself.
Increasing diverse representation is a matter of justice. And this fundamentally changes contexts. When people of different racial and ethnic backgrounds are visible in leadership, in decision-making, and in day-to-day interactions, it transforms the environment. And when the environment is changed, we reduce implicit bias, not just at an individual level, but collectively.
We often think of change as the work of heroes — individuals with extraordinary courage or talent who rise up to save the day. But what if we’ve been thinking about change all wrong? What if that’s not the true narrative?
I recently watched a TED Talk by David LaMotte titled “Why Heroes Don’t Change the World,” and I’ve been reflecting on it since. In his talk, David challenges the idea that large-scale change is brought about by individual heroes. Instead, he argues that true change happens within movements, in community, through the actions of many.
It’s not naive to think we can change the world; what’s naive is to think we could exist in the world without changing it. The real question is how we choose to influence that change—and the answer, as David explains, lies in community. It’s the small, seemingly ordinary contributions that add up to make the extraordinary possible.
David LaMotte’s perspective is one of hope and empowerment, but it’s also a reminder of our collective responsibility. We all have a role to play, and it’s not about being a hero—it’s about showing up with others, making space for change, and taking action together.
I highly recommend giving this talk a watch. It might just shift the way you think about your own impact, and the power we have when we work together.
Smuggling Grace 