I am only one, but still I am one. I cannot do everything, but still I can do something; and because I cannot do everything, I will not refuse to do something that I can do.

Edward Everett Hale

I.

Many people come to mindfulness seeking a sanctuary from the weight of fear, anxiety, and stress. It is natural to look for tools that comfort the mind, and understandable to crave reassuring words rather than unsettling truths. Yet genuine optimism cannot be built on avoidance or denial, nor can we mistake inner peace for looking away from a world in crisis. True awareness demands that we face our reality head-on, allowing ourselves to feel the discomfort necessary to spur meaningful action. Courageous engagement requires both clear-eyed apprehension and active hope: we must be deeply aware of the danger to effectively protect what sustains us. So, while my heartfelt wish is for everyone to dwell in ease, I feel a compelling responsibility to speak uncomfortable truths.

We are standing at a crossroads. Every day, the news cycle delivers a fresh tally of extreme weather events, poor human choices, global injustice, and human suffering. Faced with this, we have a fundamental choice: we can settle into the paralysis of doing nothing, or we can decide to do something. I’ve spent a big part of my life exploring the depths of the human mind, and my personal experience has led me to a singular, unwavering conclusion: It is always better, not only for the world, but for our own selves, to do something.

It is easy to get caught in the loop of our own lives—our own schedules, our own comforts, our own readiness. But a life lived purely for the self is a narrow one. We are called to be of service. As George Bernard Shaw said, “I am of the opinion that my life belongs to the whole community and as long as I live, it is my privilege to do for it what I can.” There is a profound paradox in service: we often avoid it because we feel too overwhelmed, unprepared, or anxious, yet active service is exactly what reduces our fear. When we pivot from “How do I feel?” to “How can I help?" the walls of the ego begin to crumble, and with them, much of our modern anxiety.

As a mindfulness meditation and mindful living teacher, I see my role through two distinct lenses. I am here to comfort the afflicted and to afflict the comfortable. I am here not only to provide a sanctuary for those bruised by the world, but also to shake us out of our complacency and remind us that peace of mind isn't a private commodity to be hoarded while the world burns. For many people, simply mentioning the words engagement and activism brings about discomfort, resistance, and rejection. Facing uncomfortable realities is rarely easy. Some people choose to ignore what is thorny; they just want to use mindfulness practices to feel good. While my conviction might sound stark, it stems from a profound sense of urgency. We simply do not have the luxury of infinite time. I speak with urgency because time is not on our side. My message is simple, direct, and uncompromising: ”Please, wake up. We have no time. The time to actively engage with the world is now.”

I find my deepest inspiration in the late Thich Nhat Hanh, the pioneer of Engaged Buddhism. He taught that mindfulness isn't just about sitting on a cushion; it’s about opening our eyes to the reality of the world. He put it most poignantly: "Mindfulness must be engaged. Once there is seeing, there must be acting. Otherwise, what is the use of seeing?" If our practice makes us more aware of suffering but doesn't move us to help, we must ask ourselves what we are actually practicing, because seeing brings about a responsibility.

The biggest hurdle to action isn't usually a lack of heart, but the belief that we aren't prepared yet. We wait for a future version of ourselves—one who is wiser, wealthier, better prepared, or more stable—to finally step up into action. But the truth is that there is no perfect time. If we wait until we feel fully prepared to face the world’s injustices, we will be waiting forever. Action is what makes us ready. The path is built by walking it. We may be afraid, but courage isn’t the absence of fear, but rather the judgment that something else is more important than fear. Bravery isn’t being fearless; it’s taking action despite the trembling. We can all be brave and take action in the middle of our fear.

The search for a personal state of calm should not become an excuse for collective silence. We must use our mindfulness as the fuel for our engagement. The world is waiting, and so is our own healing.

Saving life on our planet requires urgent action, but urgency must not be mistaken for haste; our efforts must be guided by deep wisdom. By practicing mindfulness, we ensure that our decisions stem from a place of calm, grounded clarity rather than panic. When we act from an afflictive state—driven by fear, anger, or desperation—we risk blinding ourselves to the long-term consequences of our choices, creating a danger of inadvertently making things worse.

II.

Practicing mindfulness meditation and living mindfully is, in itself, a powerful form of activism. We should wholeheartedly dedicate ourselves to the practice, because as we practice, we change, and as we change, so does the world. But we can do more. Engaging in activism, no matter the scale, not only benefits others but also profoundly nourishes our own well-being.

We need to deconstruct the stereotype and let go of our ideas of what an activist looks like. Anybody can be an activist. Anybody can take an active role in shaping society and healing the wounds of our world. Each one of us needs to make a meticulous assessment of our strengths and answer the following questions: “What breaks my heart? What are my strengths and how can I use them to promote positive change? What is my form of activism? How can I, in my chosen activism, show up with authenticity, being who I truly am?”

We all have the capacity to contribute to a better world by doing what we can to correct injustices. We may feel that we cannot do anything, or that what we may do will not have a significant impact, but every effort, however small, has the potential to make a difference.

Perhaps we don’t feel comfortable explicitly engaging in overt public displays of activism, but we all can, for instance, do some stealth activism, taking quieter actions to promote a cause or effect change. We can operate under the radar and use subtle or indirect methods to influence decision-making, shift public opinion, and achieve specific goals.

III.

We have hope when we feel that we have agency. We need to participate and speak up whenever we see injustices being perpetrated. Let’s follow the advice of John Lewis, a civil rights activist and Congressperson from Georgia, and “find a way to get in trouble, good trouble; necessary trouble.” Here’s what he said to the graduates of Emory in 2014:

It was many, many years ago, when we would visit the little town of Troy, visit Montgomery, visit Tuskegee, visit Birmingham... I saw those signs that said 'white men, colored men', 'white women, colored women,' 'white waiting, colored waiting.'

I would come home and ask my mother, my father, my grandparents, my great-grandparents, 'Why?' And they would say, “That's the way it is. Don't get in the way, don't get in trouble!"

But one day in 1955, I was15 years old in the 10th grade, I heard about Rosa Parks. I heard the words of Martin Luther King Jr. on our radio. In 1957, I met Rosa Parks at the age of 17. In 1958, at the age of 18, I met Martin Luther King Jr. And these two individuals inspired me to get in the way, to get in trouble.

So I come here to say to you this morning, on this beautiful campus, with your great education, you must find a way to get in the way. You must find a way to get in trouble, good trouble, necessary trouble.

IV.

While comforting individuals soothes their panic, it can inadvertently foster apathy. I want to offer a sanctuary for the overwhelmed without creating a cozy bubble of inaction. Too often, our sangha meetings feel more like therapy sessions than strategy sessions—places to hide from reality rather than gathering strength to face it. As I mentioned previously, I want to comfort the afflicted, but I also feel the duty to afflict those who are too comfortable.

As a mindfulness meditation and mindful living teacher, I face a core dilemma: balancing the emotional regulation of those who come to me with the urgent call to action. When confronting the polycrisis, panic is not good because it fuels reactive decisions that can compound the negative effects of the crises. But apathy and paralysis during this global emergency is unacceptable. The questions that keep visiting me are, “How can I evolve my facilitation so emotional regulation leads to active engagement? Would integrating frameworks like the Beloved Community Circles for Mindful Action directly into the regular time of sangha meetings be an effective way to strategize wise action  and cultivate collective courage to take action?”

I feel that the core issue isn't a lack of awareness of the polycrisis, but a missing bridge between feeling grounded and taking action. I feel that people forget the call of Engaged Buddhism and seek the cozy refuge of Disengaged Buddhism.

In summary, the journey of mindful living is not a retreat into comfort, but a call to courageous action. True practice asks us to bridge the gap between inner peace and outward engagement—to move from the quiet refuge of self-soothing into the active work of service. We do not need to wait until we feel entirely ready, fearless, or fully prepared; active service itself is the remedy for our paralysis and anxiety. By pairing grounded clarity with wise, deliberate action—whether through subtle individual efforts or collective civic engagement—we transform our practice into a force for genuine healing. Ultimately, mindfulness must not become a cozy shelter from a world in crisis, but the very fuel that empowers us to step forward, speak up, and help build a better world.