Discernment for Disruptors of Empire
What is our purpose when the world is in chaos?
I’ll preface this by saying that the world has always been in chaos. We aren’t special. Empires have always fallen, wars have always been fought, inequality has always been with us, life has never been fair.
But to borrow a phrase from Tolstoy and force it to fit my metaphor, “All happy empires are alike; each unhappy empire is unhappy in its own way.”1
I don’t know anyone, regardless of political leaning, who would currently call the US a “happy empire.” We are experiencing our own unique brand of disruption and chaos. Yes, history repeats itself. But also, we’ve certainly put our own spin on things.
There is lack of trust in institutions at every level: schools, government, medicine. Inflation is creating a growing squeeze on family budgets. The job market is becoming more difficult. AI is exploding in use but not in regulation. Neighbors—immigrants and citizens alike—are being taken and denied due process. The Earth is crying out that she is not OK. Bipartisanship is all but dead. Democracy is eroding.
Some of us sit here and wonder what the hell we’re supposed to do with this. I personally vacillate wildly between two poles.
First, I’ll recognize that I can’t do it all. I’ll choose a cause to focus on, then within a week feel awful that I’m not keeping up with other important issues. I want to march and be an activist, but I’ll also wonder what the point is, and who will watch my kids—maybe I should bring my kids? I know should donate to a cause, to all the causes, to every unhoused person on every street corner, but the budget is tight. My brain spins. Will anything make a difference? Anxiety overwhelms me.
Eventually I slip to the other side of the pendulum swing: taking a news break, numb to it all, trying to focus on doing my ordinary everyday “good work.” Keeping my head down. Praying more.
To be clear, prayer and doing that everyday good work does matter deeply. So does boots-on-the-ground action. My pitfall, and perhaps yours too, is when none of it feels like it’s enough. Caught in the swing of two extremes, I end up paralyzed, turning this way and that, never truly relaxing and focusing on my inner world but also never mobilizing into action for any cause at all.
I live in the worst of both worlds. I hate it here. Zero stars, do not recommend. This is like if Harry Potter in book seven hadn’t chosen to pursue Hallows or Horcruxes but had instead just carried on with the world’s worst camping trip until the end of time or Voldemort caught up with him, whichever came first.
I don’t want to sit in a tent waiting for the Dark Lord to find me. I also don’t want to be led on a false trail by something that might turn out to be a distraction when the real work is somewhere else.
Both are valid fears. I’m working on naming them and putting them in their place so I can discern what I actually am called to in the here and now. Because I am not helpless, and neither are you.
Discernment Questions for Disruptors of Empire
What are my natural gifts and talents? What brings me life? How might I use these skills to offer life to others?
How can I serve someone else in the next 24 hours? For many of us, our daily caregiving tasks already take so much of this energy. I add to it when I can (and I’m not always able) by looking around me and seeing who needs help: food, a friendly note, someone to look them in the eye and acknowledge them as a human being.
Which atrocities and horrors, of which there are many, are weighing most heavily on me? Is there a group locally or online that I can connect with who works to make change in this area?
What scares me most? What steps can I take to learn more about that scary thing? Knowledge is power. Understanding what we fear can weaken its hold over us and give us ideas for how to move forward.
What can’t I get out of my head? Maybe it’s an image from the news or a social media account. Maybe it’s a project or idea you’ve been dreaming of. Not all overthinking is bad; sometimes it’s a signpost that says, “Over here! Pay attention to this!”
Now, I see you, straight-A students and perfectionist daughters. You want to take your answers and compile a strategy. Maybe you can already see where this could lead you. You want to make a checklist and jump right in.
Don’t.
Now you rest. Sit with your answers. Seek stillness, solitude, silence. (Not necessarily all at once. I’m still a realist.) Sleep on it. Journal. Process out loud to your dog or your favorite tree—some creature that is nonjudgmental and won’t try to problem solve for you. Take walks without a podcast. Turn off the radio in the car. Give yourself as many opportunities as you can to hear your own voice, and the voice of the Holy Spirit within you.
This is how we discern. It takes a long time. It feels like doing nothing. But it is deeply important work. You’ll feel like nothing is happening, like you’re wasting time while the world is on fire. You’ll be tempted back into your anxiety spiral, whatever your version of the pendulum swing looks like.
Gently call yourself back. One day, without even quite realizing how it happened, you’ll have an idea. A nudge, a spark. Follow where it leads, and keep your heart open to love.
These aren’t easy questions. Discernment takes time and, the kicker, is that it’s never truly finished. Life carries on around us. Circumstances change, and we must change with them. What is right for me today may not be right for me next winter, and I must accept that.
Part of my own personal discernment has been that showing up here to write is important. I don’t know why. Something about sharing my spirituality, my Catholic faith, the way I interact with the world, matters. Maybe only to me and my own formation, but maybe to some of you too.
I’m going to ask a favor of you, the deeply uncomfortable kind that makes me squirm to admit I need help. If you’ve resonated with something I’ve written here, please consider sharing the Let It Go Substack. You can use the button below to share this essay through Substack. You can forward it to a friend from your email. You can copy/paste the link to Instagram or whatever people are using instead of Twitter these days. You can go back through the archives to find something else I’ve written that you like better.
Thanks for reading and for considering sharing. I appreciate you and am holding space for your own discernment in the chaos.
The original is Tolstoy’s famous opening line of Anna Karenina: “All happy families are alike, each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.”