The Blueprint for Ending Harm 

What would it take to end systemic violence and oppression? What would it take to truly create a better and more beautiful world for everyone?

Seven years ago, I started a portrait and interview project called Why We Fight, which explored the personal motivations for taking up arms. I interviewed former combatants all over the world: in Lebanon, Iraq, Colombia, Northern Ireland, and elsewhere. Their stories, combined with my experiences in conflict and post-conflict areas, exposed a pattern and sparked a theory about the source of harm. 

In the years since, I’ve actively tried to disprove that theory. It seemed too simple to be true and I also felt too inexperienced in the realm of humanitarian and peacebuilding work to have come across something so meaningful. But my efforts to disprove it were unsuccessful. My research instead revealed that this theory can be applied beyond war zones, providing insights into violence or oppression anywhere and laying the foundation for the answers to the two questions I started with. 

I’m not going to tell you how to fix all the world’s problems—most solutions must come from within the communities they’re intended to serve—but I am going to share where I believe we can start. 

This blueprint incorporates far more than my own observations, thoughts, and experiences. It combines the work, theories, and beliefs of many: Civil Rights, Indigenous and anti-colonial activists, academics and scholars, theologians, and incredible people around the world who are actively and successfully transforming their communities. 

This is (my initial overview of) the Blueprint for Ending Harm. 

Know Your Enemy

I don’t spend a lot of time discussing the many leaders that benefit from and perpetuate the ongoing crises that afflict our world. Many courageous writers and creators are exposing the harm caused by these individuals, and I’m grateful for their work. But I find myself significantly more interested in the mechanisms that allowed for the rise of those types of leaders in the first place. 

I see these leaders as a symptom, not the problem; I sometimes feel that too much attention on the Netanyahus, the Putins, or the Trumps of the world can create a path to escape our collective responsibility for cultivating an environment where such people can—and do—thrive. 

In other words, I don’t dream of a world where all the bad guys are in jail; I dream of a world where they’re irrelevant.

So if those benefiting from harm and oppression are not our enemy, you might be wondering, who is?

I believe our true enemy is what I’ve come to call “the forces”: fear, victimization, isolation, and ignorance. I believe they’re at the root of all human-created problems. 

The four forces convince us—individually and collectively—to hurt others, hurt ourselves, or stand by while others are hurt. Where the forces exist:

• The greedy can take control

• Populations are manipulatable

• Violence and harm are almost inevitable

The forces are also the glue that keeps unjust systems and institutions intact. 

I have found that all effective long-term solutions to these human-created problems have one thing in common: they engage and neutralize the forces. When we eliminate the forces:

We awaken individuals to their personal power:

• We remove the temptation to choose self-preservation over our deeply held values

• We prevent harm before it happens

• We stop cycles of violence and foster lasting positive change

• We create a better world for everyone

So, how do we face them? There are two routes. 

For every force, there is an opposite, which neutralizes it en masse. There is also a resilience factor, which supports our ability to resist it. If the forces were a poison, the opposite would be the antidote, and the resilience factor would create immunity to it. 

The opposite allows us to address forces external to society, while the resilience factor allows us to address them internally, from within ourselves. Resilient people are able to make tough and admirable decisions in extraordinary circumstances; they’re soldiers who defy orders, activists who spark revolutions, and those who feel free even when behind bars.

As Victor Frankl, Holocaust survivor and psychotherapist, once said, “It is not freedom from conditions, but it is freedom to take a stand toward the conditions.”

The First Force: Fear

Our first force is fear, but not all fear is a force—only the kind that persuades us to neglect our core values and beliefs for what we deem necessary for our comfort or self-preservation. 

Healthy fear enables the wisdom and instinct necessary to be proactive in protecting ourselves; fear as a force can paralyze us, persuade us to lash out in a pre-emptive attack, and convince us falsely that “we have no other choice” but to become active or passive participants in harm. 

Fear’s opposite is safety, but this doesn’t come at the expense of anyone else’s safety or autonomy. If it does, another force—victimization—might emerge. 

The resilience factor against fear is courage—a belief in the possibility of something better, combined with a willingness to face discomfort or pain for it. 

Fear’s primary motive is control, which can be either overt or covert. When someone looking to accumulate power uses fear, they often use it to foster obedience through intimidation or reliance through manipulation. 

Intimidation is the overt use of fear to control, and manipulation is the covert use of fear to control.

Using intimidation to control a population is obvious and brutish. Creating reliance through manipulation requires more subtlety and strategy, and is often achieved by convincing those who are already gripped by fear to sacrifice their commitment to their values or their autonomy for the promise of protection. 

Many world leaders throughout history have harnessed fear in this way to accumulate power after significant violent attacks. Former US President George W. Bush gained support for advancing state surveillance after 9/11 (of course, in addition to numerous wars and invasions). Russian President Vladimir Putin seized control of the Russian media in the aftermath of the Moscow Theatre siege after 130 hostages were killed. Using fear in the wake of collective trauma to expand control ensures that manipulators never allow a disaster to go to waste. 

Encouraging Action in the Face of a Scary Thing

Many people think of courage as the opposite of fear, but this is not the case. There is no courage without fear, for it is only in the face of fear that courage can be realized. Courage allows us to maintain our commitment to our convictions and those we love despite fear’s influence, and as Nelson Mandela famously said, “Courage is not the absence of fear but the triumph over it.”

To inspire action against a terrifying thing, the combination of safety and courage must be greater than the scary thing. You can boost safety, courage, or both. 

Boosting safety doesn’t require significant authority or means. It’s obviously easier to create a sense of security when you have all the necessary resources to fully contain the threat, but with fear (and with all forces) you can work to neutralize them—regardless of your level of influence.

Boosting courage requires patience, as all resilience-building requires consistent “moral exercise.” The courage required to face something truly terrifying is built by making many small decisions over time. It involves increasing both the belief in the possibility of something better and one’s tolerance to discomfort. This is why a society with a low tolerance for discomfort is usually one where courage is scarce. 

Those who spark movements often need the most courage, and one act of courage can have quite a ripple effect, boosting safety and courage and launching others into action.

The Ripple Effect of Courage

On December 1, 1955, Rosa Parks—a seamstress and NAACP member—refused to give up her seat to a white passenger on a crowded bus in Montgomery, Alabama. Her act of defiance led to her arrest and sparked the Montgomery Bus Boycott, one of the most notable boycotts in the civil rights movement. Ninety percent of African Americans in Montgomery participated.

This initial act took significant courage, but as Rosa Parks said, “I knew someone had to take the first step and I made up my mind not to move.” To take that first step, you have to face many unknowns—which, of course, contributes to fear. Rosa Parks didn’t know how the police would react, how others on the bus would react, or how many people (if any) would stand behind her. 

Once the first person has harnessed the necessary courage and action, it can certainly inspire more courage. It also increases the sense of safety—even if the acts are still dangerous—because people know what to expect and that they have support. That’s why Rosa Parks’ initial act of bravery helped spark mass involvement. 

Another way to create safety and inspire greater action is to make fun of the scary thing. 

Remember this rule: When you’re laughing at something, it’s harder to be afraid of it. And if your adversary is a fool, it’s difficult to see them also as a monster. 

Popping the Bubble of Fear: Ping-Pong Balls vs. a Dictator

One of my favorite examples of this rule in action is from a book called Blueprint for Revolution. In this book, Serbian author Srdja Popovic describes humor as a tool for activists to “pop the bubble of fear.” 

This story is set in 2011 in Syria. The Arab Spring had just begun, Tunisia toppled its despot Ben Ali, and protests started popping up all over the region. Bashar Al Assad, Syria’s dictator, grew worried and started clamping down on anything that looked remotely revolutionary. 

He forbade the writing of anything against the government or for democracy. Not only that, it was also the job of law enforcement to remove such things wherever they appeared. The police were also intimidating and extremely violent; activists were disappearing left and right, and a lot of people are still missing to this day. 

Situations like this would understandably dissuade people from joining a movement; when that happens, the movement's leaders must get creative to address this fear. 

One day, a group of activists inscribed anti-government and pro-democracy slogans on ping-pong balls and poured them down the narrow, steep streets of Damascus. Pretty soon, dozens of police officers were scouring the streets for the enemy—anti-Assad ping-pong balls. It caused quite a spectacle.

If you were convinced that you needed to stay silent in the Syrian resistance because you feared the state’s brutal security forces, watching a cop awkwardly hunt fugitive ping-pong balls might just begin to assuage those fears (though obviously not completely). The antidote to fear in this case, which was bolstering the control of the Assad regime, was humor.

Increasing a sense of safety, even slightly, in the face of a formidable foe might be all it takes to encourage action and shift the odds in a movement’s favor. 

The Second Force: Victimization

Victimization is harm without resolution. 

This force crops up when we (or those close to us) are hurt or robbed of something that belongs to us (or them), and the issue goes unresolved. The wound remains open and festers; we forget our inherent power and dignity, and this pulls us into a power struggle with the world and with ourselves. This can lead to either a feeling of powerlessness or the belief that in order to take our power back, we must take power from someone else. 

I’m convinced that harnessing victimization is a more important tool in times of war than any weapon or military innovation; victimization creates a sense of entitlement to harm others. Every perpetrator of genocide, ethnic cleansing, and war crimes I’ve ever read about or spoken to felt like a victim. The Nazis felt like victims, the Hutu rebels who perpetrated the Rwandan genocide felt like victims, and the Serbian fighters in Republika Srbska in Bosnia felt like victims. Victimization can create an entitlement to hurt others, which fuels cycles of violence. 

As Palestinian-American philosopher Edward Said famously said, “You cannot continue to victimize someone else just because you yourself were a victim once—there has to be a limit.”

Resilience to victimization is derived from an unwavering belief in one’s inherent power, which can never actually be taken away, and the ability to move forward in the healing process regardless of the perpetrator's response or standing. Those resilient to victimization maintain dignity even in the most humiliating circumstances, and they refuse to buy into the narratives of those who’ve hurt them. 

The opposite of victimization is justice—more specifically, satisfactory justice, which is the process that restores the humanity of both the victim and the perpetrator, re-establishes balance, and heals the broken space between them. 

When most of us think of justice, we think of a courtroom, a judge, a gavel, and so on. But justice isn’t only the state’s endeavor or responsibility. Regardless of our power, resources, influence, or the existing structures or systems, we can work to promote justice within our communities. We can do this by listening to and validating the pain of those who’ve been hurt, empowering them and treating them with dignity, advocating for accountability and systemic change, and promoting the rehabilitation and transformation of those who’ve caused harm. 

Transitional Justice & the Gacaca Courts

While the example I’m about to share was organized by the state and backed by significant resources, the challenge at hand was still significant and deemed impossible by many. 

April 7th to July 19th, 1994 was one of the darkest periods of modern history. More than 800,000 Rwandans, mostly Tutsis, were killed in only a hundred days. When the genocide ended, Rwandan leaders were tasked with the enormous responsibility of not only walking this brutalized population through healing but also preventing the potential of retaliatory violence—addressing victimization was vital, and effective transitional justice was likely the only path to lasting peace. 

The Gacaca Courts drew upon traditional Rwandan dispute resolution mechanisms known as Gacaca, which means "grass" in Kinyarwanda. Gacaca had traditionally been used for resolving community disputes, and its adaptation post-genocide aimed to bring justice closer to the communities affected. 

This program—which involved 12,000 different courts that tried over 1.2 million cases—centered the voices of victims in the justice process, gave those who engaged in violence a chance to explain themselves, enabled researchers to more clearly understand the motives of the perpetrators, and helped community members realize the need for the restoration of the humanity of everyone involved. Gacaca was powerful because it helped the country deal with the massive caseload, involved the community in the process, and incorporated tools for rehabilitation. It not only brought reconciliation and healing, but also fostered greater unity within Rwandan society, and it helped the country move forward. 

Being free from victimization doesn’t mean the wound stops hurting, we’re not traumatized, or we no longer seek change. It means that we’ve closed the wound and are able to start healing. 

The Third Force: Isolation

Isolation is a lack of connection with the community or the greater whole that inhibits the flourishing of the individual (and often the community). This particular power thrives in our hyper-individualistic cultures and in societies that lack the necessary physical spaces or free time to bond with others.

Under the influence of this force, individuals usually choose between two routes:

First, perhaps counterintuitively, they separate themselves from the community and give up on meaningful relationships. 

Or second, they seek out conditional belonging wherever they can find it. This can sometimes lead to membership in dangerous and harmful groups. Those seeking out conditional belonging will do what’s necessary to be accepted and to fit in. Unfortunately for them, authenticity and vulnerability are required for true and meaningful connection.

The opposite of isolation is belonging: understanding and feeling that you are a part of something bigger than yourself—such as a community, a group, or even a divine purpose. 

Resilience to isolation requires the tools necessary—including self-awareness, vulnerability, humility, and others—to seek out genuine connection even when it’s challenging. This resilience is built atop a conviction that belonging isn’t earned; it is our birthright.

Solitude, by the way, does not create isolation; in fact, it can help support our ability to resist it. Here’s what Vivek Murthy, former US Surgeon General said in his book Together:

“Solitude allows us to get comfortable being with ourselves, which makes it easier to be ourselves in interactions with others. That authenticity helps build strong connections.” 

All of these resilience factors allow us to maintain our integrity, which is the consistency between our beliefs and actions, even in difficult circumstances. 

In a given harmful situation, you’ll rarely ever see one force at play; usually, there are several, working together and enhancing one another. The existence of one force increases our vulnerability to others. This is especially true of isolation, which—according to Murthy—pushes us into a state of chronic dysregulation, as our brains can see loneliness as an existential threat. This force makes us more vulnerable to all other forces, more likely to neglect our responsibility to the collective, to take part in violence and oppression, and to cave to groupthink and fail to step up and speak out against harm.

Aside from nonprofits, governments, and movements, anyone—no matter who they are or what they’re doing—can actively engage with the forces and promote their opposites. This next example is about a business created to intentionally but subtly foster connection. 

The Power of a Shared Table: Le Pain Quotidien

Le Pain Quotidien, French for The Daily Bread, is a bakery and restaurant chain that originated in Belgium in 1990. One of the distinctive features of these restaurants was their use of large tables, which were designed to seat multiple guests together. The idea behind this was to foster a sense of connection and community among diners.

By seating strangers together at large tables, LPQ encouraged interaction and conversation. This dining experience created the feeling of sharing a meal with family or friends, even if you were dining alone or with people you didn’t know. These restaurants quickly became spaces where connections were made, discussions flowed, and strangers became friends. 

Obviously a restaurant can’t solely be responsible for building lifelong friendships, but this was a simple yet potent way to help disrupt routines and create a starting point for meaningful connections.

The Fourth Force: Ignorance 

Ignorance is the misinformation or lack of information created through neglect or manipulation. 

You can be ignorant about a lot of different things:

• Your inherent value (which would be a shame)

• The inherent value or abilities of another (which would be prejudice)

• What is currently happening

• What has been happening

• Your inherent power and responsibility

• The forces

• The possibility of something better

This last point is vital. Because I believe the most important thing to learn and teach is hope.

The opposite of ignorance is education, which is a strategic approach that confronts all types of ignorance at their deepest level; it explores and uncovers the truth of what’s happening today and what has happened in our shared histories.

As 1984 author George Orwell once said, “They who control the past, control the future.” 

Resilience to ignorance is the ability to process information and discern what to act on and what to question, even when the full truth isn’t accessible. It comes from a combination of many things—including an understanding of the forces and your own personal responsibility, a belief in the preciousness of every human life, and the three pillars of an active mind: 

• Curiosity launches us into the exploration of what is. 

• Criticism urges us to take things apart and understand what works and what doesn’t. It also encourages us to question things.

• Creativity helps us craft and imagine something entirely new. This enables us to see possibilities beyond our present reality. 

A Formidable Subforce: Prejudice

One of the most common and harmful types of ignorance is prejudice.

If you have a family member with problematic beliefs, the one who says shockingly inappropriate things around the dinner table, you’ve probably discovered that simply telling someone to stop being racist or sexist isn’t very effective. That’s because confronting prejudice requires us to educate by showing rather than just simply telling. The process of “showing” will require empowering those who’ve been disempowered, connecting with those one is prejudiced against, and negating misinformation (for example, race science).

There are two important things to understand when seeking to combat prejudice: 

1. It’s easy to believe lies about someone you don’t know, which is why connection is vital. 

2. It’s easy to believe someone can’t do something they’ve never been given the chance to do, which is why empowerment is also vital. 

Years ago, I experienced the effect of this empowerment firsthand on a trip to Zanzibar with a prejudice I didn’t even know I had. I went to visit a training center for an organization called Barefoot College and interviewed older semi-literate and illiterate women. 

All preconceived notions I had about the intelligence of a person who couldn’t read completely dissipated as I saw these brilliant women become solar engineers in the span of only a few months. Their empowerment completely debunked any imagined limitations. 

And for another example of confronting prejudice strategically, let’s talk about the coming out movement. 

The Coming Out Movement

In the US, the 1930s through the 1950s saw an increased backlash against the visible gay world. In response, many queer people began hiding their sexuality more intentionally; they went underground. This expanded the chasm between the gay community and the rest of the population, and homophobia continued to grow. 

One of the organizers at the first Gay Pride March in New York City in 1970 recognized the danger of this chasm and said, “We’ll never have the freedom and civil rights we deserve as human beings unless we stop hiding in closets and in the shelter of anonymity.”

A few years later, in 1978, representatives in California were set to vote on an initiative that would have banned gay teachers from working in state public schools. Harvey Milk, the openly gay San Francisco politician, urged those who were closeted to “Come Out, Come Out, Wherever You Are.” He figured if queer people were open about their sexuality, California residents would realize that they had neighbors, friends, coworkers, and even family members who were gay; they’d understand that they had nothing to fear, and they’d oppose the fear-mongering proposition. 

Unlike most initiatives that confront prejudice, this wasn’t about just getting to know gay people; it was actually about realizing that people you already knew and loved were gay.  The campaign worked. And coming out, in general, has transformed public opinion on LGBTQ+ rights, though many queer people have been harmed in this process, and we still have a long way to go.

The more we hide ourselves, and the more we avoid people who are different from us, the more vulnerable we are to being boxed in or boxing other people in. 

(I want to quickly note that I’m aware that Harvey Milk and the Gacaca Courts are controversial and have caused harm. That said, I’m not looking for perfect examples for the neutralization of the forces because the truth is, there are very few, and I don’t want us to miss out on meaningful lessons from history.) 

So now you know what happens when we help in a way that neutralizes the forces, but what happens when we want to help but ignore them?

The Many Drama Triangles

When we seek to help while ignoring the forces, we can often position ourselves as the savior, and any change we create will only be temporary. 

Some of you may be familiar with Stephen Karpman's drama triangle, which is an excellent illustration of what happens when we seek to help someone who’s been victimized while not addressing the victimization itself. 

At the bottom left, we have the persecutor, the person who caused the harm. At the top, we have the victim, and on the right, we have the rescuer. The rescuer is us if we’re not careful. When someone’s been hurt, and our initial instinct is to jump in and save them, we run the risk of playing into their existing disempowerment. We can rob them of the opportunity to rediscover their power—a necessary step in recovering from victimization. In this mindset, they’re also more likely to be repeatedly victimized. In this way, rescuers play a role in perpetuating cycles of harm, and victims and perpetrators remain stuck in their respective roles.

There’s an equivalent of the drama triangle for the other three forces as well. For the ignorant person, if we seek to correct them by simply persuading them to our side but not giving them the full details and education necessary to make better decisions for themselves, we leave them just as disempowered as before and vulnerable to another manipulator—someone who may have better persuasion or rhetoric skills than us—to come in and convince them otherwise.

For the isolated person, if we swoop in as the good friend and the cure to their isolation without addressing the underlying systemic or personal concerns that have led them to this state, we open them up to relying on us entirely for their sense of acceptance. This leaves them vulnerable and disempowered because a true belonging cannot be contingent on only one person. 

For the scared person, if we come in as the protector but don’t encourage resilience to fear or address the other factors that contribute to a lack of safety, we create a sense of security that is, yet again, entirely reliant on us. We hold the keys to someone’s safety, and this erodes their dignity and their belief in their own power.

When we help in a way that ignores the forces, we foster dependence, and we can often strengthen the forces. Our work will, at best, only be effective in the short term and, at worst, cause further harm. When we seek change while ignoring the forces, we also might oust one “bad leader” only to make way for another to harness the existing systems for their own gain. We see this over and over again in revolutions: one leader promises to change everything, takes power, and then harnesses the existing forces and structures to accumulate influence and wealth. 

So now that we understand the forces, how they work, and what happens when we ignore them, how do we go about eliminating them on a large scale? In the research I’ve done on successful movements and initiatives, I found that this process requires seven phases. And this can be somewhat cyclical, rather than linear. 

The Seven Phases of Ending Harm

In phase one, those who effectively eliminate the forces externally usually start by addressing them internally; these changemakers cultivate the resilience factors mentioned earlier, building a sense of freedom that exists regardless of circumstances. This enables them to embody the change they’re hoping to create, recognize how the forces work within themselves, step up and speak out more effectively, and ensure that their solutions don’t inadvertently create or perpetuate the forces. Pursuing long-term change doesn’t require us to be perfect, but it does require us to be aware and committed to this inner work. 

In phase two, they spend time carefully analyzing the problem, diagnosing the root causes, and identifying the forces. This involves actively listening to all of those affected, both those who have been harmed and those who have caused harm. 

In phase three, they craft solutions that incorporate strategies to neutralize the forces.

In phase four, they start to implement those solutions. 

If the solutions are successful in addressing the forces, they move on to phase five; this is where the regular people come in. By regular people, I mean those not overly interested in dramatic change. These folks are primarily interested in living a happy life, providing for themselves or their families, managing personal crises, and so on. Luckily, this group doesn’t require active engagement to create positive change; as many as possible are simply needed to disengage with systems of harm. Eliminating the forces makes this easier for three reasons:

• First, it helps them loosen their grip on the status quo, as change will no longer seem so scary. 

• Second, it makes choosing not to harm easier. A healthy and informed population is not preoccupied with its own self-preservation; it knows the power of its decisions, is aware of which products or candidates contribute to the problem, and is willing to explore alternatives.

• Third, it will make it increasingly difficult to choose to cause harm because the more that they, their friends, their customers, and their community are free from the forces, the more choosing to engage with systems of harm negatively impacts their reputation, their revenue, and even their own self-esteem. So in this fifth phase, more and more regular people start disengaging with these harmful systems, which leads to our sixth phase. 

The sixth phase will affect those who benefit from harm, those I refer to as the manipulators. They’re the executives and owners of companies that profit from ongoing atrocities and the leaders who use violence to accumulate power and wealth. These people are actively harnessing the forces for their own gain. Their wealth and influence—-everything—depends on enough regular people buying into their narrative and engaging with their systems. When the changemakers start to neutralize the forces and regular people start to disengage (as they did in our fifth phase), these manipulators lose their tools and start to become irrelevant. The pillars that prop them up crumble, as a society where the forces are scarce is one that creates almost no opportunity to benefit from harm. 

And finally, the seventh phase involves working together to craft systems and institutions that protect the community against the forces and promote their opposites: safety, justice, belonging, and education.

This process happens in cycles, as we continue to discover the forces that persist and perpetuate harm within our communities and within ourselves. 

This is only the beginning, so if you’re interested in learning more about the Blueprint and how to apply it in your life and work, be sure to subscribe to get updates whenever I publish a blog post, podcast interview, or video on this topic.

If you have one key takeaway, remember this: a world where the forces are scarce and their opposites are abundant is a better and more beautiful world for everyone. No matter who you are, where you are, or your level of influence, you can play a part in making that world possible. 

In future posts, I’ll delve more deeply into each force, opposite, and resilience factor. And I’ll also share more about the many thinkers, writers, and activists who influenced this work, but until then, here are some notable people and books I’d like to recognize: 

When Helping Hurts—a book that helped me understand dignity as a core principle when I was new to humanitarian work.

The Locust Effect—a book that explored the legacy of colonialism in the courts of post-colonial countries and the systems that protect the forces and perpetuate poverty. 

All the Shah’s Men—the first book I read on US Cold War foreign policy and how so many efforts to promote “Western Ideals” backfire.

Adrienne Maree Brown—helped me put into words the ways in which we can move into more transformative models of justice and move away from the punitive ones.

Nelson Mandela—helped me understand the necessity for the liberation of both the oppressor and the oppressed.

Cindy Ruakere—taught me about “opposite spirits,” which helped me understand the basics of neutralizing the forces.

Walter Wink—my first thorough intro to Christian nonviolence and what the “third way” means, adding to my understanding of neutralizing the forces. 

Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.—taught me the difference between people who really want to change the world and those who want to feel comfortable, among so many other things.

Malcolm X—helped me understand education as liberation, among so many other things. 

Decolonizing Wealth—a book that helped me understand the limitations of my imagination in crafting a better future. 

Blueprint for Revolution—helped me understand fear as a mechanism and how to face it head-on.

Together—a book that helped me understand the gravity of our current loneliness epidemic.

Again, that’s only to name a few. More to come.