When I was a junior in college, I took a class being piloted by three professors at the University of Wisconsin - Milwaukee titled the “Wisconsin Empathy Project.” Born out of the turmoil of the 2020 election and the resulting polarization apparent throughout the state, its mission was to uncover if and how it was possible to find empathy for those we disagree with. The final project of the class required the creation of an “Empathy Portrait” of someone with whom, on some level, we deeply disagreed with. We had to interview them, listen to them, and not only recognize their humanity ourselves, but also make their humanity apparent to others.

It was a challenge, certainly, and one I was a bit skeptical of, not because I don’t believe in the power of empathy (I certainly do!) but because I was cognizant that to allow another person to open-up to me required a certain degree of vulnerability myself. I had to be willing to allow my mindset to be changed. That requires emotionality, not comfortable pragmatism. Further, I knew that one of the most productive ways to encourage vulnerability was to be vulnerable myself. I did not wish to be vulnerable with my closest friends, let alone someone with whom I disagreed. And so, I chose to interview someone with whom I disagreed, but still fundamentally liked—my friend from high school who I knew had starkly different political beliefs than my own. Though I had always recognized Holly as one of the kindest people I have ever met, she also maintained conservative views that I believed to be rooted in exclusion. I hoped to understand how she could be so hypocritical, but I walked out realizing that the hypocrisy I judged in her was simply a reflection of my own hypocrisy, and perhaps, of the hypocrisy of the human condition.

It’s been four years since that first interview. I am good friends with Holly, certainly better friends now than I was before the first interview. I caught up with her earlier in the year, conducting the same interview I had in 2021 to see what had changed. After completing the typed transcript of the most recent interview, I thought, “how am I going to write this piece?” overwhelmed with the amount of material. Initially, I planned on offering much more of my own self-reflections in this writing—telling you where I noticed changes in Holly throughout the four years, pointing out where I saw discrepancies, etc. But try as I might, this method felt like a disingenuous representation of Holly’s personhood.

In my first empathy portrait, I had written the following: “When I met Holly in high school, I was struck by her ability to make everyone she met feel at home. She was able to do so by finding something to relate to in everyone she met, and she always made it a point to focus the conversation on them, rather than herself. I think it is time that she be able to tell her story without the lens of someone else covering it up.” It’s been four years. Many aspects of Holly’s life have changed. But this remains true. And so, once again, I’ve decided to let her voice speak for itself.

I hope this interview becomes a place of learning, of compassion, and reflection for you. I don’t expect you to agree with everything Holly says; I know I don’t.** But what I’ve learned in my years of working on this project is that you do not have to wholly agree with someone to recognize them as a whole human, worthy of understanding, compassion, and perhaps, even love.

The Question: Tell me a memory from childhood that you will never forget.

The Answer, Spring 2021: The first time I played my trumpet in front of church it was a complete bomb. I was in 6th grade. I played for Easter, and I could not hit the first note, so it was just a train wreck...and it was recorded. The song was “Alleluia, Alleluia, Let the Holy Anthem Rise.” And it rose! I was so nervous to play that when we got to communion, our host is a round wafer, and I dropped it and it rolled away. I had to go run around the church to catch it. It was rolling in circles so I was chasing it. And I didn’t know what to do, so I just picked it up, ate it and walked away.

The Answer, Spring 2025: Do you know what hay elevators look like? The ones that have two wheels, and you can tip them? We have a hay elevator, and it was set up in the barn, and [my sister] told me to walk to the top of it, and it fell, so I dropped like 16 feet. That was scary. I don’t think she actually wanted to cause me a bunch of harm, I just think she wanted to see what would happen.

What did happen?

I don’t remember that. I’m fine! This is why I am the way I am! It explains all my quirks. I just remember falling. A slight, free fall. It was good.

I always was picked on when I was little by my family for being really sensitive, but I think that’s helped me to relate more to different people, even people that I don’t necessarily have much in common with. I can, and I, can’t say that I’m perfect at it, but I feel like I can, I can, like, step in other people’s shoes a little bit and see things from their perspective, or just, if I notice someone who looks like they’re not feeling included or not feeling heard, I feel like I’m able to pick up on that easier than other people.

The Question: Please describe your political values. How do they affect how you live your life?

The Answer, Spring 2021: I don’t worship the republican party, but I like strong family values, trying to live out your faith in your life, limited government, and self-responsibility. If there’s a problem, you gotta look inwards.

The Answer, Spring 2021 and Spring 2025: Get things in order in your own house before you start blaming the world for it.

The Answer, Spring 2025: If you’re having some sort of issue, don’t rely on a government entity or a higher power to get resolution from said problem; it’s self-reliance, determination, things like that. I don’t know if I’m explaining it the best.

Another aspect of that is, is the reliance on your community. People are terrible at helping their neighbors. Back in the day, there was more of a concern with your community around you. I see that a lot with my fiance’s family. They’re in a farming community, and they don’t really care about current events of the world. They’re more concerned with what their neighbors are doing, like, “did you hear that this person passed away? We’re holding a benefit for their family,” stuff like that, so just a lot more concern with the community around them. I think it’s important to reflect on all the things that we are doing that are unkind to our neighbor before we go and bash other people.

I really have not been following a lot of major news because it’s so bad all the time. I gave up facebook for Lent because I was wasting a lot of time there, and some of my family has very different political beliefs than me…I feel like I love my family more if I just don’t look at that stuff. I think it’s important to vote because if you, if you’re complaining about the current climate and you didn’t vote, I don’t think you really have much of a right to because you’re not really doing much about it, but beyond that, I used to be a lot more into political shows and keeping up with every little political thing that was happening but I just feel like I don’t love people as well because of that. So I have my core beliefs, and I try to love people that have different beliefs than I do. I think some of my beliefs do land me more conservative, but I also don’t want to hate people whose beliefs stray from that.

The Question: What is something you believe in?

The Answer, Spring 2021: I guess, this is gonna be predictable, but I would say I believe in [the Christian] God (Catholicism is the specific sect of Christianity Holly practices.) Do I always act like I believe in God? No. As a matter of fact, I constantly act like I don’t. It’s really hard to say you believe in something if you are hypocritical of it a lot, but I would say that.

The Answer, Spring 2025: It’s easy to have doubts about. I guess if I’m wrong, I wasted my lifetime. But it’s not even a waste because the very basis of faith is to do unto others as you would have them do unto you. I think it’s a really beautiful thing to try, to strive towards, to try to love your neighbor like that. But it’s also very hard, so. It’s why sometimes I don’t act as though I believe it even though I do.

All humans are naturally inclined to some religion. We need that. For some people, it turns into politics, so that is what they worship, that is their religion, or it could be, like, their phone; we always idolize things. I think people all want a meaningful life—they want to find meaning in things, and they find that their faith is truly meaningful and that’s something that they want to strive to devote their life to.

The Question: What is something you fear?

The Answer, Spring 2021: I fear failure, which is a good thing because it keeps me going, so it chases me instead of consuming me. I think that fear stems from my parents. I sound horrible, and I don’t want to bash my parents, but my mom nagged me a lot. If I wasn’t doing homework, she would always say, “you better get that done.” So I always hear that. I’ve had a lot of people, and this is why I’m reluctant to tell people what I want to do, but a lot of people say “oh, Vet school? Everyone says they want to do that. It’s really hard.” They doubt me, but it lights a fire under me, and I’m like “I’ll show you.”

The Answer, Spring 2025: Not living up to everything that I was called to in life. I guess I think of like, after you die, is there that moment? Is it purgatory? I don’t know. Is it that moment where you look over your life, and you’re like, “Wow, I wasted so much time.” It’s something I think about a lot more too, like getting married soon, I do, I want to have kids, and it’s, it’s a little scary because I’m also going into a career that requires a lot of you. It’s especially a unique challenge to be a woman and to be a large animal vet, because when you are grossly pregnant should you be trying to vet all of these 1300 pound+ animals that could kill you just by accidentally like, I don’t know, by pushing you wrong? How do I balance that, and how do I not make my entire life focused on my career?

How do I transition and try to be a good mother? I hope I do a good job at that, and I hope that getting married soon, I prioritize time with my spouse and make sure that that relationship is cared for because that is the most important relationship you can have. That’s probably my biggest fear is having my priorities twisted and not living my life the way I was supposed to.

The Question: Tell me something that was said to you that you will never forget.

The Answer, Spring 2021: I had a track coach who every single practice my senior year, he always gave these very eloquent speeches at the beginning of practice. He would always say “be where your feet are.” That always stuck with me. He was like, “if you’re studying, don’t think about what else is going on. Study. If you’re spending time with family, don’t think about all those deadlines you have to achieve. If you’re in church, why are you letting outside noise follow you?” I’m a hypocrite because I don’t follow it well at all, but it stuck with me, and I try to remind myself of that because I let thoughts consume me when I’m trying to do something else and then I do a poor job at whatever I’m doing because I’m worried.

The Answer, Spring 2025: I remember my answer from before, and I think that’s still my answer.

I’ve remembered this last story for the past four years as well. I’ve held that phrase, “be where your feet are,” close to me—yes, on actual long runs when I have six miles left and can’t contemplate the notion of running 30 more seconds—but also in my every day. It’s a simple phrase, and though I first heard it from Holly I’ve now realized it’s often said. Phrases like these are so easily discarded on the basis of being “cheesy,” lost in the judgement that presumes that phrases which apply to a large population must be thoughtless. But maybe these cheesy phrases are spread widely, not because we are all unthinking zombies, but because being human means many of us have the same lessons to learn, and when we’re struggling, we look for words to hold on to.

Every morning, before 7 a.m., Craig orders a Boston Latte: 35 grams of honey, four shots of espresso, and 16 ounces of milk. Often, he comes in sweats, with bedhead in full display. Most mornings we chat about the week of work that lies behind or ahead of him. His mom lives in the area, in the house that he grew up in. One morning, after more than a year of mornings spent writing his name on 20-ounce paper cups, Craig asked where I was from. Being from a mostly unheard-of town hours from the city, I told him what I tell most people: “A small town about thirty minutes north of Green Bay.” His face lit up at the mention of Green Bay. Green Bay is home to Uncle Mike’s Bake Shoppe, a local bakery that claims to have the best kringle in North America. Craig’s favorite Uncle Mike’s kringle flavor is sea salt caramel pecan, mine is cherry.

Adam never places his order at the café, and he doesn’t come every day. If he picks up coffee before his morning commute, it is only because he is desperate for highly concentrated caffeine that is not easy to make at home. Most mornings his fix is a 16-ounce iced Americano; sometimes he adds two or four shots of espresso. Other mornings he orders a 20-ounce cold brew—the light roast. On mornings following a rare late night out, he adds two shots of espresso to the cold brew. Dark winter mornings that include Adam feel confusing because he walks through the door as if he himself is the rising sun. His consuming smile only leaves his face when he is attentively listening, and he never leaves the café before fielding a compliment to at least one barista. Even after he departs for work, the brightness he brings into the café clings to us baristas, making us forget that there is still another hour of cold darkness until real sunlight will fill the sky. For a long time, I didn’t know where Adam worked. My jaw dropped (under my mask, luckily) when he told me that he works in stem cell research. He seemed too chill, too personable, and too funny to be a lab rat. He made my secret closet of customer stereotypes shrink.

The first part of his order is always predictable: one 12-ounce skim latte for his wife. The rest of his order, though, is never the same. Some mornings he stares at the pastries for a few minutes only to get his go-to butter croissant, but Elias is usually too indecisive – or keen on interaction– to choose what he wants to drink. So, we decide for him, always keeping his 12-ounce maximum size in mind. I first met Elias on a summer afternoon. The sunlight taunted me from beyond the café's windows, and I felt like a robot in an apron repeating, “hello, how are you?” for the forty-eighth time. Elias, dressed in a suit and tie, literally danced up to the front counter, his joyous spirit inducing a smile on my formerly robotic face. He wasn’t dancing or singing for my entertainment, but I’m sure he knew I would find it refreshing to see a grown man who trains future lawyers, carry himself so freely.

Dave usually arrives around 8 a.m., sporting a faded 1⁄4 zip shirt, worn jeans, and well-treaded hiking boots that look like Merrell's. He brings his own mug, one of those ultra-light, titanium camp mugs that have folding handles. I identify these traits because they are familiar to me; my father has similar boots, and a few of those mugs in a camping bin filled with cooking supplies. I don’t just see my father, but also other people I love, like his coworkers and his friends. I don’t love Dave, though. In fact, he irritates me. After taking off his jacket and setting his laptop at a table, he makes his way to the front counter and plops down his mug. He always makes a point to groan or mumble or fuss about the coffee we’re brewing, once telling me that the dark roast, Classic French, isn’t truly “classic,” whatever that means. He wanted the (not) Classic French anyways – the irony made me laugh and cringe. A coworker told me that Dave used to own a coffee shop out of state, which might explain why he told me he actually enjoys criticizing the coffee every morning. The criticism feels more personal than it should – after all, we don’t grow or roast it. When my father runs out of the coffee that I bring him from work every few months, he fills his coffee maker with Folgers. I wonder what Dave would think of Folgers.

It was my first autumn as a barista, but I was already used to Anne’s rapid-fire anecdotes. She was obsessed with Rishi’s Cinnamon Plum tea. She was going skydiving. She talked fast and was always alone. She was going skydiving again. When she described the thrill of unplanting her feet to fall 10,000 feet, she did not blink. She was going to get her certification to be an instructor. I couldn’t gauge her age because she was so naturally exhilarated. Anne stopped coming to the café during the beginning of the pandemic. When I saw her again, she was accompanied by a child and a golden retriever. Turns out, she’s forty, she’s a mother, and a wife. Her kids play basketball, so her weekend mornings and weekday afternoons are filled with practices and games and tournaments. Anne’s husband is a natural tennis player, but she said that when she first started playing, she couldn’t hit the ball back to him. Unable to stand the thought of being so bad at something her husband was so good at, she took lessons to get better. Her hitting improved and she started to get good, almost better than him. But then Anne hurt her back in a way that put an end to her new hobby. So, in the absence of tennis, she started skydiving, and she has not stopped.

His hands look like ancient maps, worthy of the protection and esteem of an established archive. The hundreds of deep white crevices etched into the dark blackness of his hands are evidence of the many days and nights he has spent outside. Sometimes Robby doesn’t come around for days, weeks, or even months. I look for him around the city, in his discolored one-piece snowsuit. One time, on an 80° day in July, I watched Robby zip his body into his snowsuit on the corner of Lincoln and Cambridge. During the warm months, Robby orders iced tea. Sometimes, if we see him making his way to the café, we prepare his drink before he even reaches us: 20 ounces of black peach tea, iced. We don’t write a name on the clear plastic cup, or even ring him up. When the temperatures drop, he likes a cup of hot water or, even better, a hot chocolate (whipped cream included.) Most days, when Robby does come around, it is almost impossible to make out a single word he says. Seemingly houseless, unintelligible, and Black, I think most people reduce him to an addict. Maybe he is, but I don’t think so, and who am I to care if he is. Robby’s words come out of his mouth like impossibly tangled strings. He separates and punctuates sentiments with a staccato laugh or a prolonged smile. I cannot understand him and yet I do.

Carrie is often the last customer of the thirteen-hour day. Her order scares new baristas because of the complicated additions and exclusions. It can be a lot to remember: 20-ounce almond milk latte with one shot of espresso, two Splenda packets, no foam, and extra hot. Her face rarely accommodates a smile, even when we dig out every morsel of sweetness and attention for her. Carrie is. . . particular. If she sees that the scone on the very bottom of the tower of scones has more chocolate chunks or more icing than the scone on top, she does not hesitate to ask for the bottom scone. Her palate is highly attuned to what her drink should taste like, so she notices even the slightest mistake – and she will come back to tell you about it. Carrie walks slowly. If she’s cutting it close to the café’s closing time, she often walks through the door out of breath. I don’t know if she has ever greeted me first or returned the “how are you” pleasantry. Who she is, what she does, where she is from, I have no idea. Yet in her, I see so many women whose anxiety produces a fence made of self-reliance and self-protection, and I am still trying to locate the latch that will let me through.

Barefoot in the summer, long, flowing scarf in the winter. A ceramic mug of whatever the dark roast is, no matter the season. Classic French is his favorite. Ace comes at all times of the day. He might stop by in the morning, read for a few hours, leave, and then come back in the evening. I’ve noticed he reads fast – he brings a new book every week. I read a lot too, but I’ve never recognized any of Ace’s selected titles or authors. Ace is slim, grey haired, and always impeccably dressed. Eclectic is the adjective I’ve always attached to him. He has never paid with a credit or debit card, and he often comes with exact change. Ace appreciates that the baristas know his name, that he never strays from the mug of dark roast, and that he will always get a refill. He is not pretentious or ungrateful, yet sometimes his familiarity with the routine of ordering makes him come off as entitled or rude. He is friendly but brisk, his posture is rigid. After all this time, I just recently discovered that he

is a veteran of the United States Navy. I try to imagine him in a uniform, taking an oath, serving this country,

embodying patriotism, returning home. These images are difficult to reconcile with the barefoot Ace I know; the pieces of his personal puzzle seem to have transformed in shape and color, and I’m still trying to work out their new orientations.

Note: The bolded text reflects the interviewee’s own words.

Chris is 25. He’s a recent graduate of UW Madison and now works as an engineer at one of the largest construction firms in the Midwest. He’s smart, funny, an extremely hard worker, and a brilliant pianist.

I came [to the United States] after graduating from high school in 2014. The end of my first year in high school I decided to study abroad, and ... I ended up taking some of my time to study for [the SAT], so I was able to get into college right away. I didn’t know what I wanted to major in, but the education system in China is set up that you have to pick a major before you even get into college, and you have to stick with it for four years.

But it was about more than academics: Chris is gay.

I realized that I couldn’t pursue my happiness at home, and that was part of the motivation for studying abroad, to exploring a life where I can be who I am without worrying too much about how society... how family, friends, and relatives are perceiving that information. My mom still doesn’t feel comfortable with me sharing [my sexuality] with relatives. The US definitely shows a positive example, especially with the legalization of gay marriage. It helps with the process of coming out, recognizing and being proud of who you are.

Upon his arrival in Wisconsin, he found a level of diversity and acceptance for his sexuality different from the cultural landscape he grew up in – but it took a while. He lived in a dorm supporting other diverse students, and the welcoming environment he found there helped him break the mold he saw in other international students, who mostly stayed within their own cohorts.

I was the only international student that joined the [marching] band at that time. There was a sense of pride. You don’t even know if you’ll be able to stay or not, and you want to make the most out of it.

Chris says that not coming out right away in college, both from language struggles and discomfort in sharing, made it hard to fulfill his emotional needs. He felt alone, invalidated, and sometimes wondered if people didn’t like him because of his race or background. It was hard to find partners, people who’d have a positive effect on confidence. But, through online dating, he eventually did find a partner. He was excited to continue his relationship, maybe even start a family, which he could support with his degree in mechanical engineering. But there was a difficult issue on his mind: what would happen after he graduated?

This is a concern since my freshman year in college. I carried on the fear that I couldn’t land a job after I graduate because the immigration policy is making it so difficult for students to stay. That projects down to how you can even build experience, because... at career fairs, you run into roadblocks where companies will not hire you for internships if you can’t become their full-time employee.

Chris put in loads of extra work to make himself stand out. He pursued various certifications and even studied abroad in Germany, just so he’d land internships that would give him a better chance of being hired within 60 days of graduation – otherwise, he’d lose it all: his partner, all the hard work, and his visa. Despite all this effort, he says that often times companies don’t have the policy, funding, or understanding to sponsor an international student.

You’re always under the stress that they’ll suddenly change the immigration rules...it tightens up your nerves and makes you worried about whether or not you’ll be able to stay. Not only did [the Trump administration] make the process for illegal immigrants more difficult, they also made the process for legal immigrants – people who are skilled – way more difficult. For example, in order to apply for the same working visa, they raised the minimum salary requirement to the 80th percentile for your field, forcing the employer to choose local over international candidates strictly for financial reasons – not because local candidates are more qualified. Their argument is “we’re trying to pay you more,” but essentially, they’re eliminating the option for companies to consider hiring you. And in fact, [that policy is] still in place.

Luckily, Chris did land a job (He estimates that 70-80% of his fellow international students do not within the 60-day deadline). However, his entire prospect of staying in the US is tied to staying at that same job; technically, he’s still on a student-based visa and without a green card, he can’t leave to get hired anywhere else. Chris got married to his partner in February at a beautiful botanical garden, meaning he can apply for a green card. Simple, right? Not so much, according to Chris.

Because of backup from COVID, the lead time for a green card is around 24 months – normally it’s 8-12. We hired an immigration attorney because they’ve been known to reject applications for not filling in a blank when there should have been an “N/A.” Then the next time around, you have to explain why it was rejected the first time. We want to do it right.

Chris told me that the most challenging part of the application is all the documentation.

Besides loads of personal and financial records, you need documentation to prove a marriage is legitimate, such as pictures from throughout the relationship, pictures and videos from weddings, cards sent from family and friends... basically any scrap of paper or shred of documentation proving that you love each other. In an interview later in the process, they can even ask the partners separately what side of the bed they sleep on.

Chris and his husband just submitted their paperwork, so now it’s a waiting game – 7 months minimum until they get an interview slot. In the meantime, Chris is still working at the construction firm, heading sustainable building projects for large corporations. He’s trying to buy a house and hopes to get a dog. Early in the morning and late at night, he video chats his family and updates them on the progress... it feels so slow.

Note: The bolded text reflects the interviewee’s own words.

My first role model, outside of my family, was my pastor. Every Sunday, when most people were enjoying a day to sleep in, my family was getting up at 6:00 AM to go to church a half hour away for 7:45 service. While I admit that I spent a few (or perhaps, more accurately, many) sermons falling asleep in the pew on my grandfather’s shoulder, I spent enough sermons awake to be impacted by the words that my pastor preached. He spoke in almost-constant metaphors, and he seemed to contain an peace about him that I, frankly, envied.

Today, my relationship with faith, Christianity, and the world at large has shifted from what it used to be. While I am still Christian, the way I practice my faith and the values I hold are different than some of those I was previously taught. Yet, despite these differences, I still feel a pull towards my pastor. I wanted to understand more about how he views the world, and, in doing so, learn more about how my worldview also was formed as a child.

I began asking my pastor about a story he had told in a sermon once. I couldn’t quite remember all the details, as the sermon happened many years ago, but he helped me remember what was spoken about.

I will tell you what I probably taught in that sermon was concerning a young soldier. I asked, “what’s it look like under the roof of your soul?” and he said, “It’s dead in there.” That shocked me because I never considered that, I never thought of that. Other people would say “It’s good in there,” or “There’s a light on in there so bright in there I can’t look at it.” Some would say, “It’s a mess in there, and then they’d giggle.”

What I wondered most from that story when it was first told to me years ago was what my pastor thought his soul looked like. I appreciated his willingness to share.

There’s a light on inside my soul that’s too bright to look at but it’s no credit to me; that happened in baptism.

Just as my pastor said that he couldn’t fathom someone saying their soul was dead, I couldn’t fathom a soul with a light too bright to look at. Whenever I had contemplated my own soul, I saw it as a candle; sometimes the flame was strong, sometimes it was almost out. I assumed that most people would feel that way. So how did this man find such brightness in his heart?

Perhaps that brightness came from his childhood: I grew up in a wonderful Christian home, incredible parents. I remember as a little kid I asked my mom, “where’s my soul?” because where is it? Can a doctor find it when he does surgery? So that whole thing’s been down deep inside me.

Maybe it was from the joy he found in discovering his career path: I always wanted to be a cop. I love motorcycles, and I wanted to be a motorcycle cop, so I applied for law enforcement academy, and I could go, but it wouldn’t have been any good because I’m color blind. Well, I’m not color blind, I’m color confused. At that time, if you got on the witness stand and said, “the getaway car was pink but it might have been grey, I’m really not sure,” well they wouldn’t have liked that. They’ve changed that now. So my sister said, “There’s a great little Lutheran college, why don’t you go there?” I was just like, “okay, that’s what I’ll do.” So I got on my motorcycle and rode there. I ended up going to the seminary and that’s how God moved my path. My faith path has continued to grow.

And it is through this faith path that my pastor found his greatest joy. But importantly for him, this path has strict boundaries: I learned that if you follow the words of the 21st Psalm, [life’s] a path. So if you go for a walk on a path, you know, there’s edges to that path. Or if you drive on the highway, there’s lines. So, the ten commandments are really like lines or borders on the path. This far, and no farther. So follow the desires of your heart and dance with God, but on the dance floor you don’t go out of bounds, or on the football field you don’t go out of bounds, or on the basketball court. So it’s this beautiful walk on this path with all these people, and just color inside the line. But watch out to not cross the line and step off the path. And the enemy is luring us off the path with the lies he tells.

To go deeper in this layer, on the highway, or on the path, there’s a ditch on either side. One ditch is pride and the other ditch is shame. And whoever is full of shame wants to be full of pride. So they’d like to cross from one ditch over to the other but all they did was just cross from one ditch to another ditch. God doesn’t want us full of shame; the devil does. And God doesn’t want us full of pride; meaning full of self, but the devil does. But God wants us on the path. He doesn’t want us full of shame or pride; he wants us to walk with Him. So that’s life.

We walk on this beautiful path and walk humbly with God.

Some of the confines I was taught to not cross in church are ones I no longer resonate with. One of these areas, which many Christians disagree on, is that of an intolerance for those who identify as queer. I never understood why any Christian church, which has a loving God, would simultaneously preach what often seems like hate. I asked him what he would say to the LGBTQ+ community.

I love them. How’s that? I hesitated, waiting for the deeper explanation to come.

God loves everybody and he meets us where we are, and he has this great transforming power to bring us back to the way that we were intended to be. They may not agree with that but then we’d have to agree to disagree. Not fight, not hate. I know quite a few gay people, and they’re just wonderful. Some are my relatives, some are those I see here and there, and I know them fairly well, and am I gonna correct them? No, but if they bring up the topic, we’ll talk about what is the blueprint for life that God set.

I struggled with this explanation because it reminded me of the saying, “Love the person; not the sin,” which I find to be a damaging way of encouraging conditional, rather than unconditional love. But I also understood that my pastor finds great joy in the blueprint he has found through his interpretation of the Bible. To extend on his metaphors, my pastor’s margins on his blueprint for life are just as important as the contents of the blueprint itself. Without marking them, he would feel lost; with them, he has direction—a direction he believes points him toward eternal salvation. Perhaps he fears that to meddle with the margins of his blueprint would be to destroy the whole thing altogether.

Unfortunately, my pastor’s blueprint is not one in which every person finds happiness. I wondered what my pastor does when he cares about people who aren’t Christian and aren’t likely to subscribe to this blueprint for life. So I asked him, “what do you do when you have people in your life you care about who don’t believe in the Christian God?” He paused and thought for a moment before responding.

I don’t think I have any.

Let’s pretend I did. I suppose I’d say, stay inside what’s in your control. Avoid what’s not in your control.

And let your light shine.

If I was limited to just one word to describe Diane, it would be “selfless.” She has the miraculous ability to calm a room just by existing within it. People flock to her just to feel a moment of comfort. It’s no secret that she believes her life purpose is to please, serve, and care for each person with whom she crosses paths. It should come as no surprise, then, that Diane went to college to earn a degree in nursing to help save lives. She’s worked at the same hospital in northeast Wisconsin for the past 25 years of her life, commuting thirty minutes each way between work and the hometown she has lived in her entire life.

Diane starts every day before 6:00 A.M. to make breakfast for her teenage daughters, prepare for the day, and leave by 7:00 A.M. She begins her morning commute in her car and then must take the bus for the remainder of the trip. Then it’s at least eight grueling hours taking care of ill or dying patients before she can board the bus to her car and start the drive back home. Her family expects her to have dinner ready after she arrives home at 5:00 P.M. She spends much of her evening completing house chores and finishing up work schedules on her computer. Sometimes she will have time to watch a basketball game or a TV show before she goes to sleep around 10:00 P.M. Oftentimes exhaustion sets in, and she falls asleep during her few hours of free time. Then the cycle repeats over and over.

Diane is not thrilled about her daily routine, but it’s been relatively unchanged for the past couple of decades. She tells me that she wishes she didn’t have to make such a long commute and that she could enjoy more of the day away from work. In fact, her biggest regret is that, “I should have gotten my master’s degree [in nursing] so I could make more money and retire early. I always wanted to work less but it never happened.” Diane doesn’t really see breaking from her old routine as an option. Any disruptions from the norm are usually met with criticism from her husband. This was certainly the case when she tried to venture out on dinners with friends or try out a new hair color; he was never content with her taking time for herself. Furthermore, her commitment to her career, community, and family is unwavering. As a nurse and the breadwinner of her family, Diane feels the weight of the dependence others have on her. Accepting her life at present seems like the safest option to her.

And yet there is still a nagging voice in the back of her mind reminding her that she is quickly approaching the age of 50 and there is still so much left that she wants to experience. When asked about her greatest fears, she explained that, “I fear not doing everything that I wanted to do in life. And being bored or lonely when the kids are gone.” She worries that she will look back on her life and wish she had done more, gone outside of her routine, and taken more time for herself.

Hearing Diane speak about her future in the past tense was heartbreaking for me to hear. I saw in her someone who had decades left to keep changing the world and to enjoy the variety of experiences that life can offer. I understood Diane’s internal drive to put others first because this selflessness is a goal I am still striving to achieve in my life. It became easier to empathize with Diane as I considered the comfort of routine and the admiration of selflessness in our world; however, that selflessness can certainly take its toll on a person if they neglect to ever put their needs first.

I saw how her unwavering commitment to selflessness had worn Diane down over the years and almost instilled a fear within her to be selfish. Although selfishness often has negative connotations, I do not think this is the only way to understand this term. I can empathize with feelings of selfishness as I believe it is an essential part of the human experience; we all must be what we consider “selfish” at one point or another to survive. Thus, I would still empathize with Diane if she took more time for herself, and I hope she can experience life in all the ways she has always longed for.

True to her spirit, Diane hopes—above all else—for her kids to graduate school and be happy and healthy in life. After our interview, I was happy to hear Diane say that she hoped her future self could keep good health, enjoy retirement, and travel to Florida or other places with her kids and husband, Richard.

If I was limited to just one word to describe Richard, it would be “passionate.” He remains committed and loyal to his beliefs and values, and he shares his opinions avidly. His opinions are not completely inflexible, but he enjoys talking at length about his own interests. He can be comedic at times, joking with friends as he fishes out on the lake; however, he can be explosive at other times, arguing with his youngest daughter. Richard went to college to earn a degree in water chemistry, but he quickly found that the job openings in these areas were limited. He has strayed from his original degree path and has been working as a construction laborer for the past 25 years of his life, waking to travel across eastern Wisconsin before the sun even rises.

During warmer months, Richard starts every day at 3:00 A.M. to get ready for another day of work. He drives out to the construction site and gets to work pouring concrete. Then he spends much of the morning and afternoon in the blistering heat of summer, working away on various infrastructure improvements. He leaves for home around 3:00 P.M. covered in sweat, concrete stains, and burned patches of skin. He takes a shower and relaxes in front of the TV, sometimes helping his wife prepare dinner. By 8:00 P.M., Richard is usually spent and heads to sleep on his couch in the basement. With his sleeping issues and unusual work schedule, he stopped sleeping next to his wife at night several years ago. They agree it is just easier this way. Then the cycle repeats over and over until the layoff season in the winter.

Richard isn’t completely satisfied with his career path, but his options after leaving construction would be limited. He wishes his workdays weren’t quite so strenuous because it leaves him with little energy or time when he gets home. Being laid off for half the year, he cannot contribute to his family’s income as much as his wife can. It is clear from the enthusiasm in his voice, however, that he cares deeply for his family regardless of the financial support he can offer.

Looking back on his time in college, he says he regrets that, “I chose a major in college in something that I had no passion or interest in. I would have gotten a degree in fish biology and worked in that field.” Richard’s real passions lie in the outdoors, among lakes and trees instead of concrete slabs. He has been fishing recreationally for nearly 50 years of his life, and though he wishes this could have been part of his career, he is mostly content to have it as a hobby. There isn’t too much else in his life that Richard would change. Accepting his life at present is a satisfying option.

With the state of his life right now, Richard isn’t too concerned about his future. While he is sometimes willing to adventure out into new experiences, he prefers the predictability of his life. This explains his greatest fear—oddly enough—of hospitals, given how unpredictable he perceives the outcomes of patients’ lives to be. He embraces tradition for its expectedness and stability in times of uncertainty.

Although I do not always agree with all the opinions Richard shared in our interview, I still find myself happy that he is content and satisfied with his life. I can certainly respect Richard’s resourcefulness and his ability to make the best of what he has in life; at least in my experience, it is quite difficult to achieve harmony with my life in the present. There always seems to be a new change in the future that I am longing for, oftentimes at the expense of neglecting what is happening at present. As I empathized with his situation, I found that Richard’s passion for the simplicity of life is admirable and understandable.

Admittedly, I began our interview with the misunderstanding that Richard’s life and opinions were rather uninteresting and unrelatable to my own circumstances; however, empathizing with Richard has now allowed me to understand how this lifestyle is desirable from another point of view. I understand how Richard considers uncertainty and change from a risk standpoint rather than as an opportunity, as I usually do. By interacting with him, I have uncovered the unwavering gratitude and passion that guide him through his life. While some may see his life as unideal, he remains committed to making the best of what he has.

Since he views his family as his greatest blessing in life, Richard hopes for his kids to be successful, happy, and healthy. While he is usually content with the present, I was happy to hear Richard say that he hopes his future self can keep good health, enjoy retirement, and travel to Florida every year with his wife, Diane.

John and I attended high school together. Born and raised in rural Wisconsin, it was life in a farm town. The sixth youngest out of ten siblings, John’s childhood was rooted in Catholicism: one of two denominations available in the community, the other being Lutheranism. The traditional family structure has been all John has ever known and come to love.

Married life is when an individual devotes their life to their partner. Religious life is when an individual vows their life to God by making commitments to live like Jesus. Finally, priesthood is when a man is compelled to serve God by preaching the gospel and celebrating mass. When discussing these options, a similar sense of reservation recurred. However, John’s decision-making ability was closely tied with the health of his relationship with God. Prayer was a common gauge John used to understand this relationship, to where he would find himself reading that journal’s cover.

“…that was enough to get me through the day. I didn't always know what God wanted for me, or sometimes I thought I knew, and I hated it. I just had to remind myself that even though I don't understand all of it, he wants to give me hope, he wants to give me a future… I really started taking prayer into my own hands during my freshman year of high school, just because, without Saint Anne's [local Catholic middle/elementary school], it wasn’t as structured for you.”

However, over the course of high school, this relationship became less of a spiritual outlet and more of an unwanted, almost terrifying burden. John was scared. He felt lost in a predetermined fate, one with an expectancy to continue priesthood without true intent. John felt a pressure from God and his faith, so he gave up prayer for the time being. While he didn’t want God to tell him something he was uncomfortable doing, John persisted nonetheless.

“In my junior year, going into my senior year of high school, I was so terrified that I now didn't want to go to seminary, but I didn't know what else I was going to do. I mean, I've spent the past three years saying I was going to be a priest and now I don't know. I was so terrified that God would tell me to go to seminary that I just didn't want to hear from God, so I basically did not pray in any substantial way for about half a year to a full year… I still went to give God a chance, because I think I would kick myself for the rest of my life if I didn't.”

“Then going to seminary, I had a spiritual director, someone I had to talk to about my prayer life, which was an interesting experience. Our conversation would go something like, ‘So what have you and God been up to?’ Then I just had to talk.”

These conversations focused on this relationship as it related to prayer life. As a part of the spiritual environment created at seminary, these advisors would meet with students throughout the semester. The students were encouraged to reveal their prayer life here. Conversations were structured around the daily half-hour of mandatory prayer each student was assigned. If a student was not interested in establishing this routine, there was another advisor available for consultation. John admits these regimented meetings were not easy. Discussions on prayer life, particularly in an environment where it is so prioritized, can be difficult for those not used to its disclosure.

“The first couple of times it was bad. Though, I really came to appreciate what he had to say, and he listened very well. However, the first semester around Thanksgiving I was really getting frustrated with seminary and questioning if it was for me or not.”

After describing his relationship with God throughout the program as similarly strained, John identified that it was indeed the program itself that frustrated him the most. It was John’s attempt at giving God a chance. While his desire for priesthood decreased into his senior year, John felt obligated to try. The rationale may not have been clear, but that seemed okay at the time. Though, predictably, things rapidly became unbearable.

“I just wanted nothing to do with it, so I felt like it was a forced part of me that I had to adopt: a sort of personality that wasn't me, and in that same sense, there wasn't a wood shop or anything, so I felt like that part of me was being cut out. I was expected to develop this part of me that I didn't have, so that was frustrating. It was also just very structured, very rigid, and I have authority issues sometimes. You can't roll up long sleeves, and that's an issue for me. Although, I probably could’ve gotten over it.”

I’m not exactly sure the full extent to why John didn't want to continue, and I'm not sure that he did, either. He just knew that it was wrong for him. He had issues with authority, he was questioning his relationship with God, yet he admits he could have persevered if he would’ve simply “gotten over it.” His hesitancy hinted that something was withheld. A feeling that this decision, still fresh in his mind, had other connotations that were harder to track down. John seemed happy and sure of himself. However, the forces which drove John to seminary seemed to have strained his independence within his faith.

“The feeling when you're not where you're supposed to be, it took me a long time to figure that out and verbalize it, for what I wanted for life was not priesthood… waking up each day feeling like you shouldn’t be there, feeling like you're in the wrong place, but also trying to be as present as you can. I recognized that, but I think you can only be so happy in a situation like that. Then, my spiritual advisor just told me in our last meeting, ‘Have you ever thought about leaving seminary?’ I tried to be present to where I was, but yeah, I've thought about leaving. There I think I was able to finally detach my desire for priesthood and my desired relation with God.”

My conversation with John exposed some incredibly deep, nuanced aspects of Catholicism to which I was unaware. John’s story is that of resilience, acting in favor of one’s true interests, and taking a leap against the odds. His faith ultimately sets the guidelines for how he lives. However, John finds joy in knowing he can remain a man of God without having to sacrifice a healthy relationship with God, a family of his own, or the woodshop. John understands what it means to educate, introspect, and be a role model. He gained balance and control, like that of his prayer life, giving our conversation a sense of hope for the future. He is no longer paralyzed by fear – a fear of uncertainty, lostness, and potentially of lack of independence – because he acted. Through long conversations, drives, and reflections, John gave a voice to his true self. He appreciates life in the real world, rooted in simplicity, and he encourages passionately following a craft while maintaining a chaotic sense of optimism. For John, only optimism finds small virtues hidden in some of the most challenging situations.

“The biggest thing that bothered me in my lostness was the waiting and not knowing… There is a time and place to think about things, and to process and reflect, but I think at some point, you've done all the reflecting and processing that you need to do… It's so easy to battle hypotheticals in your head all day… At that point you just need to act on what you've chosen.”

“I know now, when I wake up in the morning, I just trust it's going to be a good day. I know there's absolutely nothing to base it off, like I could die today, but I still wake up knowing that ‘hey, it's gonna be a good day.’”

I am 21. I’m from a small town. I’m a musician above all things, an artist above all things. I think my life could be characterized as me trying to find answers to questions that maybe not everyone would fully appreciate why I asked the question in the first place.

While I was never impressed with the whole “why are we here” question, I want to know why it is that specific people behave in the specific ways that they do. Why is it that some people decide they want to go study chimps in the Amazon Rainforest for their whole life? I want to know why it is that some people decide that they’re obsessed with machines and want to be a mechanic. I want to know why it is that groups of people act differently than individuals and what influences people to do certain things. I want to know what affects people’s decision making other than their own conscious processes. You know? Those are the types of things that I am curious about.

This is how my interview with Daniel began. He met me at one of the two coffee shops in his small hometown. It was November, and I knew that Daniel had just five months before he was scheduled to leave for basic training.

I arranged this interview for two reasons. First, I needed to understand why a young man, full of curiosity, compassion, and creativity, would choose to enlist in the U.S. Navy. Second, I wanted to dig out and expose the complexity housed within Daniel’s life as a means to resist my tendency to over-essentialize enlisted members of the armed forces. This is the story of a young man, new to his twenties, who takes in the details surrounding him and moves through his world intentionally.

I know this isn’t the type of thing you should describe yourself as, but I was never really a judgmental person, especially when I was a kid. I didn’t go over to a friend’s house and see it was a mess and think, “ugh, these gross people.” I was just like, “yeah, this is a house.” I always kind of hung out with the freaks and ghouls, ya know? I always thought they were a lot more fun; they always had interesting things to say.

When the Parkland shooting happened, a professor on YouTube made a video called “A message to school shooters past, present and future.” In that video, he went into great depth about what happens in a regular person’s life that would cause them to do something like that, and he related it to the Bible and the story of Cain and Abel. It was one of the most powerful videos I’ve ever seen in my entire life, and it changed the way I looked at the world because he made the case that the inability to recognize your own flaws, and to put that on the world instead of yourself, was a direct pathway to either a literal or metaphorical hell. Immediately, I started to look at my life and everyone else’s life totally differently. That changed the way that I’ve lived my life for the last three years. Every good decision that I’ve made since then, I attribute to that epiphany.

For many people, picking up a magnifying glass to examine the most intimate contents of one’s own life is uncomfortable, if not terrifying or entirely inconceivable. Yet for Daniel, the practice of introspection has become a skill to hone and a deep source of delight. To confront the imperfections and challenges woven into one’s essence demands boldness and dedication. From where I sat across from Daniel, I wondered if his aptitude for critical reflection stemmed from innate characteristics or from sobering life experiences; my conclusion favors the former.

Remarkably, when I was fourteen, the death of my father was less of a challenge than I thought it would be. I had the benefit of it being pure tragedy; there was nothing to lay at the feet of. It wasn’t like someone crashed into him in a car, or like he did something that led to his own death. It was just straight-up heart attack tragedy. So, for me, I didn’t have to come to grips with anything other than just mortality itself.

When I was younger, I grew up in the church; my father was Catholic, my mother was Lutheran. I guess my mom got to make the decision because I was never Catholic; she just brought my sister and me to a Lutheran church. I never questioned it. On Sundays, my dad would go to Saint Mary’s—we used to call him “Church Man” because he would go to church anytime there was a service in town. Religious philosophy was his passion in life. I have inherited dozens of books from Catholic philosophers and theologians that he read and left behind. I think that’s definitely where I get the philosophical part of my mind, like the desire to answer questions. He saw it through a religious lens, which I don’t necessarily use.

I grew up in the church, although at a very young age, I was always really perturbed. As a kid who asks a lot of questions, the church is not a good place for someone like me. Every time I had a question, they told me not to ask, or they would say, “it’s great that you ask questions,” and then proceed not to answer them. I remember being like ten years old and asking how we could have free will if God knows everything, because if He knows everything, then there is some metric by which our actions are predetermined. And then they were like, “ah, it’s great that you have questions,” and then they just didn’t answer me.

My mom is one of those people who goes with whatever she was told. She doesn’t deviate from what she learned as a kid, which I think all of us are guilty of to some degree.

I started looking for something more. I started reading books by Richard Dawkins and Christopher Hitchens, and people like that who were, what I would consider, militantly atheistic. As a teenager, I was like, “YEAH!” This was exactly the type of aggressive, anti-establishment, anti-republican Christianity that I was craving at the time. Also, as someone who is scientifically minded, the whole concept of evolutionary biology was the most amazing thing I had ever read. I was like, “Oh my god, biology is insane!” and I loved it. I was so mad that people in my own family just wouldn’t accept it. So, I stuck with that for a long time.

Around the time that I turned eighteen, I started to understand that perhaps there was more to it than I had previously thought. I started to do research on where the Bible came from, and I started to look at the Bible not in the religious sense of a book of facts. I started to realize that ancient humans didn’t write things down; they told stories. That is when I realized that the Bible is a series of stories that were designed to apply to the broad context of our human experience. When I realized the books in the Old Testament apply not only to today but to me, I had a whole psychological unraveling. I was like, “okay maybe I should pay attention to this more.” I guess what I would consider myself now is someone who is agnostic towards the idea of a higher power but looks at religion as a message from my ancestors to me now.

When I swore into the Navy, they gave me the option to say “so help me God” at the end of the oath. And I said, “so help me God,” not because I believe in the Christian God, but because I believe saying something like “so help me God” is an appeal to something bigger than yourself. It is an appeal to something that is not just in your own interests. To me, it was important to say it because what I was really saying was, “what I am doing is bigger than me.” Which is why I believe I will still have a Christian wedding when I get married. I think that the rituals are important, and they are there for a reason beyond appealing to the literal God.

After he graduated from high school, Daniel did what many of his friends and classmates did—he went to college. Daniel attended a private college in Green Bay, not more than two hours from his hometown.

I wanted to swim in college; that was something I wanted to do since I was a little kid. So that was a big reason to go, and I wanted to at least do it. I also didn’t know what else to do. All of the things I had imagined myself doing in the future were either academic or involved some sort of qualification, so college was really the only route for something like that. So I went.

I was put off by a lot of the people that were there. I didn’t meet a lot of the creative types, like the people who wanted to make music or create art. Everyone that I met was trying to fill some hollow hole in their life with partying or something like that. Those things definitely have their place—I did a lot of that—but it seemed like none of them had anything more to them. Then I considered the fact that if I got a degree in biology, it didn’t put me any closer to any of the jobs I wanted, and I was going to be paying for it for a long time. I just didn’t see it as a good option, and I wanted to find out about myself, so I left college.

Daniel moved back home into the house he had grown up in with his mom and two younger sisters. He worked at a local sporting goods store, and he also worked for the parks and recreation department. After working jobs that brought him no satisfaction, Daniel decided, once again, to leave. On a whim, he packed up everything he owned, withdrew all of his savings, and moved to Wisconsin Dells where a friend of his was living. His plan was to play music.

It was December when he moved, and when he first got there, Daniel stayed in an unheated storage unit. He lived in this storage unit for a few weeks until he was approved for an apartment. Eventually, the building manager offered Daniel a job as a nighttime security guard. When he wasn’t working or sleeping, he was playing music. Unfortunately, the social paralysis induced by COVID-19 hampered Daniel’s plan to gig. Daniel stayed in Wisconsin Dells for eight months. Although there for less than a year, living life on his own terms, and in a new place, exposed Daniel to new experiences and meanings.

I always assumed the best out of everybody, but going out into the “real world” and living on my own, I had to come to grips with the fact that there is actually real evil in the world. That was sort of something that was really hard to come to grips with—that there were genuinely quite a few people out there who just have your worst interests in mind.

I realized how important certain people in my life are. I don’t remember who said it, but someone said, “No man is a failure who has true friends,” and that couldn’t be more true.

Upon returning home, Daniel began working yet another unsatisfactory job. During this time, and throughout the period between leaving college and moving to Wisconsin Dells, Daniel never stopped creating art. Even now, his days are structured around spending time with his younger sister, working, drawing, painting, and making music with his friends.

Growing up, thoughts of adulthood eluded Daniel. Too busy being a kid, Daniel never considered what his life would look like in twenty or thirty years. When the military was mentioned, Daniel was open to the possibility.

Based on a lot of people who I had talked to and worked with in the past, I thought I’d try to join the Navy. Then everything in that department worked out, and now I have an awesome job, and an awesome salary, and I have the potential to make a lot of money doing something that I’m really going to love, in a place that I’m really going to love, with a higher quality of person. I am going to have my own health and dental insurance, which young people may not know, but that is nice.

When I get out, I will have the qualifications to do basically anything I want. Having the qualifications to work on a nuclear reactor in the military pretty much makes you qualified to do anything. I could join the Space Force afterwards, or I could go back to school because they are going to pay for all of it, and it won’t be a scam anymore. I just had every reason to do it, and it ended up being an even better decision than I had thought it would be.

I am so different from my parents and the lifestyles that they led, and what they aspired to do. They didn’t have bad aspirations, they’re just content watching TV all day, ya know, “the good life.” Me? I want to go do so many things. It’s overwhelming, like how am I going to do all of this?

I want to write a book series one day. I’ve had this amazing idea that I think would change people’s lives, and I’ve had it for so long. I remember every individual detail I’ve ever thought about it. It is an extremely long trilogy of books that I have planned, and I’ve written down all of the ideas, but I don’t even need to refer to them because I remember literally every single detail I have about the whole thing.

I have a specific idea that I want to tackle, which will be filtered through a hundred thousand different metaphors and references to everything from different cultures to different economic systems, all filtered through the idea that I want to defeat nihilism.

I want to give people who don’t have hope, hope. I have three main characters planned, and I want everyone who reads the book to be able to look at one of them and see themselves. I want people to read these books and be like, “wow,” and maybe they can quit drinking or whatever addiction they have.

I want to create a story about people who were in the worst version of their slice of hell. It is not going to be obvious—nothing is going to be obvious in this book. All the best books have people guessing for decades, and that’s what this is going to be; people are going to be putting the pieces together forever.

Since its conception, the impetus for this grand trilogy has fused itself to Daniel. When I was in sixth grade, I used to draw obsessively and compulsively. I wouldn’t do homework because each piece of paper was another medium for me to draw on. We had a guest room, and every single night when I got home from school, I would go sit in the guest room and just draw for hours and hours. I would end up falling asleep in there, and I remember I woke up in the middle of the night, and I don’t know why, but I was trying to figure out what the meaning of life was. I came to the conclusion that, no matter what the truth of the universe is, if the best thing you can do is leave the world in a better place, and your net good output was better than the negative, then you have lived a life that you can look back on and say, “yeah, that was good.” I think I’ve pretty much lived by that ever since.

At 4:30 p.m., the baristas began the process of closing. The groan of the vacuum cleaner inched closer and closer to us, but Daniel kept on. At 4:55 p.m., I reluctantly stopped recording, and Daniel and I parted ways. Throughout the process of interviewing Daniel and then composing this piece, I felt as though I was fulfilling a duty. This duty, I’ve come to realize, is that of sharing Daniel’s story with you. Although he is just one man, young enough that some may call him a boy, he has sworn himself to become one of many. In less than a month, his haircut and his clothes, and his bed and his schedule, will mirror countless others, but his story will continue to be his alone.

“Being the youngest in the department is really hard because everyone looks at you like you don’t know what you’re doing, and I agree with them. I don’t know what I’m doing half the time. I definitely feel my age when I’m working.”

His age: twenty-one.

When Cameron was in elementary school, he wanted to be a teacher. In middle school, his dream job was to be a firefighter. As a high schooler, he assumed he would follow the path laid out for him by his brother and father: he would be an electrician.

After he graduated from high school, Cameron started as an apprentice electrician, which he thought was the beginning of a lifelong career. It wasn’t until this apprenticeship that Cameron realized he wasn’t any good with his hands. Not only did this mean that a career as an electrician wasn’t in his cards, but it also meant that he would have to pursue a path of his own. This revelation led Cameron to evaluate who he was and who he could be, which first required him to confront the man he was not.

"My dad passed when I was younger, which was obviously hard. But the hardest challenge I’ve faced came later when I realized that I am not my father. I can’t be who he was or do what he did. He was a handyman who could look at anything and just fix it. I can’t do that; that is not how my brain functions. So, after I realized this, I had to ask myself, ‘What am I good at? What can I do if I can’t do the job I was born into?’”

With this new understanding of himself, Cameron pivoted. He landed a job as a dispatcher at a local police station, where he caught a glimpse of what police officers do—a role he had previously assumed was nothing.

"When I was a kid, I didn’t know any cops, or anyone who was trying to become a cop. I thought they did absolutely nothing. I honestly thought they sat around for eight hours and maybe went to a noise complaint."

As a dispatcher, Cameron witnessed a reality he had not known existed, and he wanted to join in on it. For two years, he worked as a dispatcher while taking classes to earn his associate degree. This degree was followed by a technical diploma from the law enforcement academy, which consisted of 720 hours of training over four and a half months.

While at the academy, Cameron’s decision to give up on being an electrician was affirmed by his performance.

"Going to the academy was a whole breakthrough because I was good at it. I got top grades on all of the tests, assignments, and everything."

With this confidence, Cameron became a sheriff’s deputy for a county in rural Wisconsin. He spent the first three and a half months training with a field training officer (FTO). After completing this training, he was on his own.

"I feel like I’ve learned a lot more on my own than I did on FTO because you’re there by yourself. You don’t have anyone to lean on, so you have to just make shit up as you go. You find out what works and what doesn’t. You find out really early on that going to the level that these people are on does not work and only raises them more. You have to go lower than them, speak softly and calmly. You have to learn that yelling does not work at all… It’s very stressful, but you learn to be more persuasive, and you learn to bullshit with people."

With the exception of his badge, Cameron responds to calls on his own. Officers are distributed across the county, meaning backup is at least 10–20 miles away. This isolation requires confidence and self-reliance, which Cameron derives more from his ability to communicate than from the weapons he carries.

He has never pointed his gun at anybody, and he has only ever pulled out his Glock to “calm people down." When he first got on the job, Cameron said it felt like his weapons weren’t even there because he never needed them. It wasn’t until he went out on his own that he felt the weight of his gun belt. "When you’re on your own," he said, "you remember that you have options if you need them, but you don’t really think about using them unless you really need to."

Apart from deer-vehicle crashes, most of the calls Cameron responds to are related to mental health issues, which he wishes the academy had prepared him for. On a typical day, he estimated responding to four to five mental health-related calls. He described the process in a defeated, hopeless tone, rooted in his observations of cycles connected to poverty and a lack of change.

"I know how much government funding could help and does help, but I also see the viewpoint of it costing a lot, and I see that it often doesn’t help. It would be interesting to see how far government funding could go. I see myself as a libertarian, especially as I’ve gotten older. So, of course I’m still conservative on spending, but I feel more liberal on the social side. I do feel a need and urge to help these people, but I also see that it is a tremendous cost. It’s a sticky situation."

In addition to deer-vehicle crashes and mental health calls, Cameron spoke of the major drug problem in his community. Distance from urban hubs means cocaine is almost non-existent, but heroin and meth are widespread. Despite being on the job for less than a year, the criminal activity of his community has reshaped Cameron’s perception, even when he is off duty.

"It’s weird going from not being a cop to being a cop now, and how differently you look at people. You look at them as they walk by and make sure they’re not doing anything stupid, instead of just looking at them and continuing on with your day. You wonder: why does he look raggedy? Why does he look like he probably has drugs on him? And then you have to remember that you’re not working, and you have to move on. When I’m driving and I see a beat-up vehicle, I look at it and think, 'Yeah, there are probably drugs in there and yeah, there is probably a shitbag in that vehicle.' You’re only used to seeing the most mellow people in your city or the world; but when you go out on the road, you see the shittiest scumbags you’ll ever see. It shocks you to see what people do to get by. You might see the homeless man on the street, but you don’t know why he is there, you don’t know where he is going to at night—that is what we see."

Cameron interacts with a side of his community that was once invisible to him, unknown to his friends, girlfriend, and mother who do not wear the uniform: tan shirt, brown pants, gold badge. Before becoming a deputy, Cameron’s lens for observing the people at the grocery store, Kwik Trip, ice cream shop, and even at stoplights was not dialed into the crimes committed around him. In his new position, Cameron is exposed to the depravity that neighbors his own existence. The scenarios he encounters on the job do not exist in a vacuum, so he sees signs of crime everywhere he goes.

To cope with what he witnesses, Cameron carefully selects stories to share with his girlfriend. Before becoming a cop, he thought he would keep everything to himself to protect those close to him from despair. Now, he shares what he feels is necessary to move on. He doesn’t seek therapy and doesn’t think he ever will.

"When others know that someone is depressed, the department looks at them differently. There’s always the embarrassment among men, but for police officers, if you admit it, you’re probably going to lose your career. You’re going to have to go through so much in the process of proving to the department that you are able to do your job."

I asked Cameron if he would ever pursue therapy, and he said no; it would be too embarrassing. I asked if he would change his mind if no one knew:

"Uh, I’d have to think on that… I would never do it if people had to know about it. I would think about it a lot more—obviously, I don’t need it—but if I was in that situation, I would definitely think about it a lot more if I knew nobody would know. Even if my girlfriend knew about it, I don’t think I would. I don’t think I could."

So, humor takes the place of therapy, just as it takes the place of tasers, pepper spray, and guns—sometimes.

"A lot of the guys like to bullshit at work after their calls. A lot of it is about putting the calls into humor with your friends at work. It really does help a lot. Yeah, you’re joking about a serious thing, and it’s probably a shitty thing to hear if you’re not in the department, but it’s how you express your emotions about it."

Although he works twelve-hour night shifts four days a week and is granted widespread respect in his community, Cameron is still just twenty-one. He lives with his mom, hangs out with his girlfriend, plays video games with friends from the academy, goes to the casino with buddies, and feels himself drifting away from high school friends.

"It’s hard to relate with them now because there are different interests. They definitely look at me differently and they always want to talk to me about being a cop. People only want to talk to me about work and how cool it is. I don’t want to be doing that when I’m not at work. I just want to talk about sports and hot girls from the bar. I don’t want to be talking about what guns I have when I’m on the road."

Cameron’s title, “sheriff’s deputy,” is far from what he ever imagined for himself, so it’s not surprising that his social group is changing.

"I always thought I’d just live a normal life. I would work my blue-collar job, come home at 5 or 6 every night, and I’d do that Monday–Friday for forty years and then I’d die. Now I am trying to expand my horizons. Besides being a cop, I am trying to be more financially free through real estate and other investments, which is different from the way I thought in high school. I just thought there was only one option: you work forty years, have a wife and kids along the way, and then you die."

In the four years since he graduated from high school, Cameron’s footing in life has changed, yet he has retained some of his original expectations.

"I’m looking forward to starting a family, that’s one thing I’m very excited about. Whether it’s next year or in five years, I’d say I’m ready. I just have to get all of my ducks in a row."

At the same time, like many twenty-one-year-olds, his perspectives are shifting.

"When I first started out, I wanted to be remembered for the badass calls I was on and doing something really cool and awesome. But watching my chief retire, the stories people always shared about him were about how he changed the community and how he spoke to people and how he changed people’s lives within the community. So that’s something I want to be remembered for: helping people instead of tasing them and beating the shit out of them."

I, like many people, have always associated assisted living and nursing home facilities with death. It seems like an undeniable association, as unpleasant as it may be. Because of this connection to death, which I fear, I’ve avoided these facilities, and by extension, the people in them. That is, until I became a student artist and had the opportunity to live and work at an assisted living home, creating arts activities for the residents. Throughout my time here, I have had the opportunity to develop relationships with the residents, and I’ve realized that residential care facilities are not for the dead; they are for the living, and the people who live in them deserve to have their voices heard.

I conversed with a woman, Katherine, who has extensive experience working with older generations in and outside of care facilities and understands the value that older citizens bring to all generations. She demonstrates her love of older populations with pride; her laptop features a sticker that says, “Old people are cool.” Furthermore, she has worked to create various creative care programs for residents and has inspired me time and time again by her passion for the work. This passion for the elderly and connection Katherine has with them has been with her for many years.

“I was comfortable around older people from a young age. Honestly, I was more perplexed by people my own age. I didn't seem to understand their rules. Older people's rules made more sense to me.”

Throughout my time living at an assisted living home, I’ve become especially intrigued by the reactions of others when I tell them where I live and what I do. Many of them herald my work as being comparable to that of a saint or say they could never work with the elderly. Some even say they simply do not like old people. However, many of the reasons people don’t think they like old people are rooted in misconceptions. I asked Katherine about some of these misguided beliefs that she has seen from younger generations.

“I think common misconceptions are that older people don't care about the world. Or aren't interested in learning or growing. Or that all Baby Boomers are rich and white. Baby Boomers are just the generation born in the euphoria after WWII ended. It's every walk of life, that just happened to be born at the same time. It's pretty common for Americans to have a very warped sense of time. Our country is less than 300 years old! We always think new is better. Young is better. It's a conceptual bias that leaves us paralyzed by short-term thinking and overlooking the lessons and experience of people who have gone before us. It is easy to be lulled into thinking that the fast pace, youth-oriented culture of the moment is the most important thing. But time goes fast. People who are long-lived know this. And being in their company can change the way you prioritize things in your life, the choices you make about what to worry about, where to spend your finite time and energy. Older people with disabilities offer younger people an opportunity to learn what it is to provide care, to tend to another. Being in the company of elders, especially those with disabilities, can help young people discover the gentle power and joy of care flowing in both directions.”

To open myself up to the joy that comes from hearing about the lessons and experiences from elderly populations, I asked a few residents a series of questions. I saw myself reflected in many of the stories they shared, and I hope you find fragments of your story in theirs as well.

Can you share a childhood memory with me?

I didn’t know what Pearl Harbor was. I knew that the country had something bad going on, but I was just a boy at that particular time.

I had a wonderful childhood despite the fact that my dad died when I was 7. My mom only had one arm. She managed to take care of us, four kids, and the house, and I had everything that I needed. When I think back, I wish I would have helped her more. When you’re a kid, you are so capable, but you just don’t think, you don’t think about helping with the work. And my mom, she never had us do a lot of chores or anything. I regret the fact that I didn’t offer more help, but when you’re a kid you just don’t think about that. My mom was doing it, so I figured she didn’t need me. You look back and you think, “oh, what I could have done.” I can’t change what happened or go back, so why even think about it? You just regret. I just feel bad. She was amazing.

I remember going fishing, and occasionally, I would catch a bigger perch than my grandmother.

When did you feel great joy?

I was going out with my girlfriend; we were just going out together. We were living in St. Louis. And I offered to buy us tickets to the opera. And I didn’t know this at the time, but my girlfriend, who would eventually be my wife, was in the midst of deciding whether or not she wanted to spend any more time with me. And she decided to come with me to the opera. And I was happy.

I went dancing every night at the Eagles club. When the band came, I was there until they left. They had all the sailors from the Great Lakes there, and they had far more guys than girls, and it was great. It was really fun, and I never sat out one dance.

What’s one of the most important lessons you’ve learned?

How to dance.

Sometimes you have to lie. If someone says, “does this look good on me?” and it doesn’t, are you gonna tell them the truth? No.

What is something that was said to you that you will never forget?

When my husband said, “will you marry me?” That was the best moment of my life. I’ll never forget that. Those are the best words I ever heard. Ever. I don’t remember where we were anymore or what we were doing. I just remember those words.

What is something that you believe in?

God. That’s how I was trained. I was raised Catholic; I’ve been Catholic all my life. It’s just a part of me. We have mass here [at the assisted living home] every Sunday. We don’t have many Catholics here, but I go. That’s what I believe in. Not saying it’s any better than any other tradition, but for me, that’s what I was brought up with, so I just stick with that. Other residents also agreed with this first response, citing God as their primary belief as well.

I believe in the phrase, “Give peace a chance.” One of the residents interjected, asking “how you would apply that?” The resident responded, If you have a government that is very war-like, in that they are always after everybody else, that’s not giving peace a chance. You’ve got to be in a position where you give grace to people. You need to not be the person to start something.

Another resident was reminded of her time fighting for a more peaceful world during the Vietnam War era. She reflected on her experience saying, I remember back in the late 60s and early 70s, we did a lot of parades and rallies. We just didn’t give up.

What is something you are proud of?

For me, losing weight. I used to be really fat. Now, I’m not skinny by any means, but I just decided I didn’t want to look like that. I wanted to take care of myself, and that was a big accomplishment.

I was working and involved in quality control for a welding company as an engineer. We were doing an evaluation of a weld, and it needed some further revision. There was a lot of confusion on the specificities of the for the weld, so I created a welding standard for that company that is still used today.

I was a nurse, and I spent time in Alaska working with Native communities and caring for the sick populations there. Later, I moved to Montana. I always liked adventures, I guess. I was curious to know more and asked this resident what was fulfilling about her work. Well, I like working with different cultures. They always gave me much more than I gave them.

What do you hope that people say about who you are?

I hope people say I’m helpful. I did girl scouts for many years, not just as a scout but also as a leader when I was an adult. I liked doing that. I’ve always tried to help people when I can with every day, little things.

This might sound mean, but I don’t care what people say about me.

What do you hope for?

This is gonna sound terrible, but I hope I die and go to Heaven. That’s what I hope, and I hope it happens soon. I’m 97 years old. I’m old. I’m not getting any better, any healthier, any smarter. Waiting takes all my patience. I’m probably one of the oldest people in this building. It’s not fun being an old lady.

I hope for world peace, but I think that’s a long way off. I don’t think we have peace in this country. I don’t think we have peace in this city. I don’t think we have peace, even in our community here. I would like to see people get together and not fight about the small things.

As this hope for a peaceful humanity was shared, I nodded my head in agreement and was reminded that it is only through the empathy that comes from hearing each other’s stories that peace is possible at all.