On April 21, I spent my evening watching TikTok videos of the Boston Marathon, clips of runners helping others who had fallen, carrying them across the finish line.

Others were advocating for those whose voices are often silenced, pushing back against an administration determined to strip us of our own. Some were even pushing individuals in wheeled chariots, those unable to run the race themselves, so they, too, could cross the finish line.

As I watched, I began to cry. It started with a single tear escaping down my cheek, and before I knew it, I was sobbing. That’s when I realized – I was starved for kindness; for compassion; for the simple, profound reminder that humanity is still capable of showing up for one another.

Lately, it feels like I lose a little more faith each day in the values we were taught as children. The headlines are relentless: thousands losing their jobs overnight; mothers praised only if they bear six children, a cruel hallmark of this new “baby-booming” administration; a father torn from his family and deported to El Salvador, despite having every legal right to remain.

My parents raised me to believe in sharing, caring, loving, forgiveness, and respecting others. I still try to live by those principles. But more and more, I find myself asking, where has the compassion gone?

As a graduate student at Yale, I’m part of a group that puts these principles into action, our “Compassionate Dialogue Group.” It’s a space shared by students and faculty who come together, not to debate or to solve, but simply to be present. We gather to listen, deeply and respectfully. We talk about our worries, our joys, our lives. There’s no agenda. Just the quiet, powerful understanding that whatever is shared will be met with kindness. That here in this group, we are safe. Here, we are seen. Here, we are nourished by compassion and respect.

It sounds simple. But lately, practicing compassionate dialogue outside of that space has become harder than ever. People don’t want to listen, especially if your perspective challenges theirs. Sometimes they don’t want to listen at all. And yet, over the past year, I’ve found deep relief in the silence of our sessions, sitting quietly, listening to the stories of those around me, and being reminded that the values I was raised with still live in others. That they’re not just relics from childhood, but guiding truths that can still shape the world around us.

So, the question becomes: how do we spread this? How do we rebuild a culture of compassion, respect, and real listening, in our relationships, in our communities, in ourselves?

While I don’t have all the answers, I do have a few challenges for you.

I challenge you to talk to a stranger, not a deep conversation, just a compliment, a kind word. You never know how much it might mean. I challenge you to sit back during your next conversation and truly listen. Don’t speak unless your words add something meaningful. Silence holds incredible power. And finally, I challenge you to end each day reflecting on where you encountered compassion, whether it was something you received or something you gave.

Growing up, my dad and I would recite a list of words each morning before school. Those words still hang on a sign in my family’s living room:

Sharing. Caring. Loving.

Focus. Concentrate. Participate.

Give compliments. Leadership. Forgiveness. Respect.

These were more than just words, they were a blueprint for how to live and how to treat others. And I believe that if we truly practiced them, if we made space for each other with compassion and courage, so much of what feels broken could begin to heal.

Grace Williams lives in New Haven.