Our Invisible Lions

some thoughts on elephants, asses, lions and turn signals

** I wrote this post before the rally at Madison Sq Garden and to be honest I considered not publishing it. After watching vitriol, I thought perhaps I was wrong in my thinking and maybe we’re dealing not just with idiots but hateful bullies of the worst kind. I am publishing it anyway because if I can’t find and keep my compassion then I am lost. I hope it helps…

This is not a political blog. However, it does deal with themes of philosophy, coping, purpose, change, and meaning—all of which are undeniably influenced by the larger conversations happening in the world. There is, of course, an elephant in the room this week. And while this isn't the space for partisan debate, it would be naive to pretend that this elephant isn't sucking a lot of the air out of the room on a global scale. Elephants tend to do that.

What fascinates me (and I say this as someone who intentionally follows voices from across the political spectrum—no echo chambers here) is how both sides view the other with a level of disdain and incredulity that makes dialogue almost impossible - everyone thinks the other side are full of idiots.

The Left often paints the Right as a mass of poorly educated, gun-toting, Bible-thumping followers, blindly trailing the orange bully around the playground. Meanwhile, the Right often sees the Left as a group brainwashed by a massive psyops campaign, ala the Matrix, believing they are naively being led by a shadowy group of pedophiles and Satan worshippers.

What strikes me is how this mutual disdain reflects something deeper—something more human than political. It’s not just a disagreement over policies or leadership; it's a clash of worldviews. Each side has created a story, a narrative that gives meaning to their place in the world. The story on the Left may be one of progress, equality, and justice, while the Right's story may center around tradition, faith, and individual liberty. These stories, like any good story, have heroes, villains, and a clear sense of purpose.

But what happens when the stories collide? When my hero becomes your villain and vice versa? We lose not just the ability to communicate, but the ability to understand, and worse—the ability to question our own stories. We double down on what we know because, to let go of our narrative, would mean grappling with uncertainty, and uncertainty is terrifying.

There’s a book called The Invisible Lion by Benjamin Fry. The title’s metaphor is based on a scenario where, one sunny day in May, you’re sitting at a café sipping coffee when a man runs down the street, screaming and waving his hands wildly. I don’t know about you, but I’d probably assume someone had escaped from the local asylum. Now, if a few minutes later, a lion that had escaped from the zoo comes barreling down the street, suddenly the man’s behavior makes complete sense. He wasn’t insane—he was reacting rationally to a hidden threat.

I try—emphasis on try—to bring this perspective into my interactions with others. Even if someone’s behavior seems irrational, annoying, or downright stupid, I ask myself: what invisible lion might they be running from? Could their actions make sense if I could understand the lion they’re facing? Now, don’t get me wrong—it's far more satisfying to label people as idiots (just ask my kids about my running commentary on other drivers). But I try to remind myself, that maybe there’s more to the story.

In moments like these, it feels important to step back and ask ourselves: What stories are we telling ourselves, and what purpose do they serve? Are these stories truly helping us find meaning and navigate the complexities of life, or are they just comforting us in the face of uncertainty?

The truth is, we cling to certainty as an antidote to fear. We're all scared—scared of losing something precious, something that feels essential to our identity, our safety, or our sense of control.

Personally, I hate the idea of scared people having access to semi-automatic weapons. It doesn’t seem like a particularly good combination.

But when we realize that everyone is holding on to their beliefs out of fear—fear of losing something dear to them—it becomes a lot easier to live with them as friends, coworkers, family members, or neighbors.

Maybe understanding that we're all scared can be the first step in bridging the divide, and to start getting comfortable with the uncomfortability of less certainty.

Stay safe out there, try to be kind to one another and for Christ sakes use your turn signals! *

• I highly recommend Where have all the Democrats gone? By John B. Judis and Ruy Teixeira if you’d like a thoughtful perspective on where the party has seriously dropped the ball.