By Debbie Fox. Inspired in Italy. Written for right now.
I’m writing this from a sun-drenched corner of Italy, where even the ruins whisper stories.
Here, centuries-old churches rise from cobblestone streets like ancient sentinels—majestic, worn, deeply human. They’re more than architectural wonders; they’re reminders of a time when people didn’t just attend something. They belonged to something.
In the hush of these spaces, I feel it: a sense of order, purpose, and reverence. The kind of guidance that once taught how life could be lived—not by fear or control, but through shared principles.
Calm. Compassion. Community.
Is it just me, or do you feel it too—that ache for something rooted? A longing for direction, not from someone else’s doctrine, but from a deeper, quieter place within?
We know the whole truth—religion, for all its comfort, has also broken trust. It has been weaponized. It has silenced, harmed, and turned a blind eye when leaders veered from their own teachings. What once held communities together has sometimes fractured them instead.
And yet… I don’t think we’ve lost the desire to believe.
If anything, it’s stronger than ever.
We crave direction—but not dogma.
We crave meaning—but not manipulation.
We crave community—but not conformity.
Am I the only one longing for a shared compass again? Not a perfect one, but one rooted in honesty, humility, and heart?
As Sapiens author Yuval Noah Harari explores, we’ve always been shaped by shared myths—stories that gave us identity, values, and resilience. But in this digital age, where belief is optional and truth feels slippery, I can’t help but wonder:
Have we grown so skeptical that we’ve lost trust entirely?
In institutions. In each other. In ourselves.
Maybe that’s what makes us vulnerable to so much today—not just loneliness, but a deeper disconnection that leaves space for bad actors to step in. When we no longer trust the places or people we once leaned on, we drift… and drift… and drift.
So where do we go now?
Maybe the invitation isn’t to return to old systems, but to remember why they mattered. The ritual was never the point. The intention was.
We still need reverence. We still need a moral compass.
We still need places—real or metaphorical—that feel holy.
So here’s my gentle nudge:
Pause. Reflect. Ask what you still believe in.
Step inside a space—sacred or otherwise—and notice what stirs.
There’s wisdom in the stillness. There’s clarity in the quiet.
And there’s power in choosing to belong again—on your own terms, rooted in integrity.
Maybe that’s the new faith.
Maybe it’s not just you after all.
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