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By Orly Benaroch Light


I’ve always been full of big ideas. From the age of seven, I was constantly on the move, organizing everything and everyone. I wasn’t the most graceful—a three-inch scar on my thigh from an unfortunate encounter with a barbed wire fence serves as proof—but I was driven, energetic, and focused on getting things done. My ideas were tools for growth, motivation, and achieving goals.

That was true until January 1, 2025. Instead of feeling inspired, I stumbled into the new year with a heavy heart, weary and disenchanted. My mind felt blank, unable to conjure a single motivating thought. One question, however, wouldn’t leave me: What could the presidency look like under a man found liable for sexual assault, a man who has publicly displayed contempt for women?


By January 20, as the country transitioned from the unprecedented progress of the Biden-Harris administration to the chaos and intensity of Trump’s return, I was overcome with despondency. The specter of economic and social upheaval, threats to women’s rights and the environment, and the deepening racial divisiveness weighed heavily on me. Images of children separated from their parents, held in cells under harsh conditions, haunted me—a stark reminder of the cruelty that had once dominated our immigration policies and could very well return. The hope that once lit my path felt extinguished.


Years of working in Continuing Medical Education taught me how chronic stress impacts the mind and body. Whether it’s fear of a perceived threat, uncertainty, or unpredictability, living in constant tension takes a toll. It erodes focus, diminishes joy, and strains our closest relationships.


I’ve been reflecting on how to hold what Parker Palmer calls the “tragic gap” — the space between the world as it is and the world as it could be, between who we are and who we aspire to become. How do we stay present in this space without succumbing to despair? How do we continue the hard work of self-improvement and meaningful connection, even when it feels impossible?


This gap feels especially wide to me now. The world seems to break in new ways every day. As I grow older, I’m more aware of the work I still need to do—learning how to balance hope and reality, to hold tension without collapsing into cynicism or disengagement. What feels most difficult, though, is the unforgiving nature of the time we’re living in.


Losing my dad in a tragic car accident at 16 taught me that healing is a process that can’t be rushed – it unfolds in its own time. I’ve learned to honor feelings of sadness, worry, and anger rather than trying to banish them. Those emotions are meaningful and deserve space. Instead of dwelling on what might happen, I’m learning to engage with the present meaningfully, finding moments of joy and purpose where possible.


Now, I hope to approach the tragic gap with curiosity, patience, and compassion—not only for myself but for others. I want to resist the temptation to blame or shame, even when confronted with conspiracy theories, illogical beliefs, or actions that directly infringe on my rights or the rights of others. Perhaps the best thing I can do is meet people where they are.


This means focusing on who they are, what they face, and where they stand. It calls for active listening, asking thoughtful questions, and striving to understand. I don’t have to agree with or condone their choices, but sometimes, the best course is to leave people where they are. I must accept that I may not be the one to help them reach where I believe they need to go—and that’s okay.


It’s taken me a long time to realize that the only way to close the gap is by staying in it—together, even with those I least want to share it with. That means holding space in my heart and community for diversity, complexity, and contradiction, no matter how uncomfortable it might feel.


Reflecting on my journey thus far, I see the beauty in the ideas that brought me here: two incredible children, a strong résumé, good friends, and a comfortable life. But the most profound gaps that demand my attention lie in the space I share with others who see the world differently.

My homework is to transform judgment into respect and compassion. To practice the kind of power that opens the heart, the mind, and the possibility of moving closer to the world I know is possible.





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