It was May 25, 1986. I woke up on an overcast Sunday morning and put on some gym shorts, a boxy unisex t-shirt, and tied the laces on my pair of trusty sneakers. I will never forget my first pair of Nikes. I had them out of the box and on my feet before our station wagon pulled out of the shoe store parking lot. I, had a pair of Nikes. I wore those babies until the laces bled.

The t-shirt was screen printed with a logo and the words “Hands Across America”. We were participating in a monumental event with millions of people holding hands across America from coast to coast – raising funds to combat hunger and homelessness in the United States. Our place in the chain was near Forest Park and the Washington University campus. I don’t remember many specifics about the day (other than my sneakers, RIP) but I do recall my mind trying to understand how it was possible for everyone in America to be holding hands at the same time. While it wasn’t nearly everyone in the US, it was an unimaginable feat. I could feel the expansion.

I recall watching the Olympics in the 80s and 90s with a similar wonder – excitedly looking up the different countries and their flags in our fancy set of bound encyclopedias. The ones my parents undoubtedly took out a second mortgage for and propelled three young future college graduates with. I loved spinning our world globe to find the far away places like Japan and Switzerland, Brazil and Bangladesh. My love of old globes continues to this day. Any time I see one for sale at a thrift store, into my trunk it goes! I marveled at the feat of carrying the torch from Olympia, Greece, all the way to the host city of the next Olympic games. Many different hands stewarding the journey, keeping the flame lit and the spirit alive until the lighting of the giant magic cauldron of the equally enthralling opening ceremonies.

In January of 1998 I packed a large REI backpack and boarded a plane in Chicago with a few of my best friends in college. We landed in Florence, Italy, for what was indeed the experience of a lifetime. Five months studying and living abroad, hopping on trains, crossing borders, breathing in culture, art, architecture, food and wine at every turn. And a brewery’s worth of pints at the Lion’s Fountain in our beloved Firenze, Italia. The time of my life. I remember an overnight train from Budapest to Prague, abruptly awoken in the middle of the night by Slovakian guards asking to see our passports. At the time I felt a little Agatha Christie and a lot Ethan Hawke. What an adventure I was on! The freedom I had to live on the fly and take in the treasures that Europe had to offer me.

Last night I found myself looking out into the night over my city. Stone and cement, glass and steel, buildings standing tall and proud in the sky. Glowing lights on the steeple of the downtown cathedral. Street lights creating warm halos. Walkers and dogs taking in the delightful change in temperature before retiring for the night. A simple scene. The peace of sleep just a few short hours away.

Across the way stands the city courthouse. It is a building I have long admired. Hard to fathom how these buildings were built without the technology we take for granted today. The top of the courthouse resembles an Egyptian pyramid. Many nights I find myself staring at it inquisitively.

The pyramid roof on the top was designed to resemble the Mausoleum at Halicarnassus which was one of the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World. The roof is made of cast aluminum and is topped by two 12-foot high sphinx-like structures with the fleur-de-lis of St. Louis adorned on the chests.

Beginning in 2012 the lights changed to rainbow colors for the start of PRIDE. Colors have lit the the columns and change with the happiness of holidays and the tears of tragedies ever since. Tonight it was lit in blue and yellow.

Beaming the colors of the Ukrainian flag.

I felt a quick surge of pride followed by the slump of sadness. I would be going to bed with the security of knowing my next days activities, the choice to make my own coffee or run out for a latte, answering my emails with a robust WiFi connection. The sun would rise, the birds would chirp, and I would still be cloaked in an amazing amount of freedom and security.

Tomorrow, Ukrainians would wake up – if they were fortunate to sleep at all – and run to catch trains, race to the border, hoping for safe harbor and kind neighbors and relatives and even strangers to take them in. Not knowing if they would ever return to see their homes or the night sky over their beloved homeland. Leaving loved ones behind to resist and fight against the forces set into motion by the hardened, cold heart of one maniacal man, who has changed the course of Ukrainian life and world history forever.

Couldn’t you just cry?

Last year I endeavored to walk to the Arch daily on the road of recovery after finishing my cancer treatments. Some days were quiet and reflective, and other days were musical and inspirational. One morning the voice of J.K. Rowling – author of the beloved Harry Potter series – came streaming into my ears. It was the audio from her 2008 commencement speech at Harvard. She spoke of two themes – the positive effects of failing – and the revolutionary power of empathy. I know all about failing. Done it many times. She is correct. It works. It has a growth effect like no other. But it was her words on empathy – rooted in imagination – that captivated me. I replayed it over and over as I looped around the legs of the Arch and back to my apartment.

‘Unlike any other creature on this planet, humans can learn and understand, without having experienced. They can think themselves into other people’s places…….many prefer not to exercise their imaginations at all. They choose to remain comfortably within the bounds of their own experience, never troubling to wonder how it would feel to have been born other than they are. They can refuse to hear screams or to peer inside cages; they can close their minds and hearts to any suffering that does not touch them personally; they can refuse to know.…….If you choose to use your status and influence to raise your voice on behalf of those who have no voice; if you choose to identify not only with the powerful, but with the powerless; if you retain the ability to imagine yourself into the lives of those who do not have your advantages, then it will not only be your proud families who celebrate your existence, but thousands and millions of people whose reality you have helped change. We do not need magic to change the world, we carry all the power we need inside ourselves already: we have the power to imagine better.‘

A fatalist I am not, but the threat of nuclear war has me tiptoeing around the quicksand. I feel more reflective, more introverted. How can this be happening? How does this end? Will it end? How can the democracy of a sovereign land be so desecrated?

Couldn’t you just cry?

While it has become our collective tendency to speak of each others perspectives and opinions with rigid and inflexible dichotomies – even the act of choosing divisiveness is an unrecognized privilege. The torch of freedom that the courageous Ukrainians are laying down their lives to keep lit, is the same freedom that many of us arguably hold thoughtlessly in our own hands.

As citizens of a callously free country and as citizens of a troubled world – we must come together. To imagine each other’s pain, to imagine our differing stations in life, to imagine our expansive and challenging histories and experiences, galvanized for the advancement of humanity over tyranny.

We can cultivate a beating heart of empathy.

We can hold hands in solidarity.

Across America.

And around the world.