As We Are

I find that in every aspect of my life, God has bestowed me His protection and mercy. Always, His guidance, and though I may not always see it at first, His Grace.

The human mind is limited and mine is not peculiar in this regard. I make mistakes. I misunderstand both things and people, and sometimes experiences too. I find myself confused and impatient at the world and its shifting dynamics; but more intimately, I find that in every regard — knowledge or experience, emotion or rationale, worship or delusions, God has somehow always had my best interest laid forward.

Every missed opportunity turned out to protect and led me to better — something more aligned with what my soul resonated with.

In simple everyday moments, I often become aware of the blessing of food and health, the gift of family, the comfort of a home to always go to, the privilege of safe travels, the grace of soft, intentional womanhood, the eloquence of speech and thought, and every now and then, the very ability to breathe, to be.

Where I come from, the elders say that if you want to thank God, you look at those beneath you — or more literally, at those whose conditions are worse than yours. For a long time I thought it wise too; when you see those less fortunate than you, you are somehow able to be grateful for your own ‘better’ situation. But somehow, I’ve learned to be grateful, regardless of who is less and more fortunate than I. It is a point I’ve reached that I cannot quite recall its journey.

I question why we must compare at all to give thanks. Is life itself not a gift? But then perhaps that is insensitive. Perhaps there are conditions, experience is too gruesome to consider such livelihood a gift. Life is an unfair complex thing. Incomprehensible at times. And that’s why one’s judgment and understanding of the world must never be based solely on one’s own experiences.

The world is vast. Made up of diverse people of diverse tribes, values, knowledge, experiences. The very nature of earth is diverse. The sun and the moon exist to complement each other. Land and sea are friends that create an experience for both human and animal, despite their differences. The stars are as beautiful as the clouds (whether in the heat of June or the rains of August). Somehow all complex natural things are in sync, respectfully, with each other.

Everything grows out of its environment. A tree is shaped by its soil just as a person is shaped by their experiences. Even the ocean carries the memory of rivers.

So is it possible to have a completely unbiased perspective, or are we always influenced by our experiences?

The allure of objectivity is ancient. From Plato’s allegory of the cave to Descartes’ methodic doubt, thinkers have long sought a way to see the world as it truly is — untainted by emotion, assumption or identity. Today, in journalism, science, justice and even personal relationships, we are taught to strive for neutrality. But what if true objectivity is an unattainable ideal? What if the very act of seeing is, by nature, shaped by what has already been seen?

Our eyes are not blank slates. They are memory-laden, emotion-carved, history-shaped organs. To be human is to interpret. And to interpret is to be influenced. But perhaps that is not a flaw. Perhaps bias is simply the imprint of our humanity. Maybe it is not the enemy of truth, but a reminder that truth must be carried collectively — not individually.

Maybe the goal is not to erase our experiences but to acknowledge the lens they create. To understand that we are all walking with different lights, different shadows. That my truth is shaded by my upbringing, my faith, my fears, my triumphs — and so is yours.

Just as God meets us where we are, perhaps we are meant to meet each other with the same understanding. Not neutral. Not untouched. But sincere. And that too, is a kind of grace.

Maybe the closest we come to objectivity is not removing our experiences — but learning to honor those of others alongside our own.