Winter is at it again. We’re in the middle of another snowstorm, like much of the Eastern U.S. I’ve devoured all my storm snacks and, out of sheer desperation, just ate two dried prunes (send help in the form of chocolate). A couple of weeks ago, I watched a video by smoenaco in which he shared how he and his community saved their beloved local post office from being replaced by digital post boxes. He talked about how the revolution is relational, and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. In his words:

“The revolution will not be televised, they say, and that’s because it’s not on a screen; it’s interpersonal, it’s relational, it’s found in the minute moments when we choose to be curious about another human being in our world.”

Years ago, while working on my master’s capstone project on domestic violence, I spent months travelling across Baltimore City, talking to experts, listening to stories, and collecting data. At the end of many days, I would go home and cry quietly in my closet so my brother (we lived together at the time) wouldn’t hear me. Some of the stories were so horrific that they made me question humanity’s capacity for good.

During that same semester, I had regular check-ins with one of my professors. She said something that has stayed with me ever since: in public health work, in social justice work, yes, there are unbearably hard days. But there is also so much good. And you must take time to notice it. Otherwise, you will drown. There is more good in the world than bad.

So I did.

In the weeks that followed, my laptop was stolen during a burglary, and I was gifted a new one, even better than the last. I lost my wallet at Lexington Market, with everything in it, and it was miraculously returned intact. At the end of the semester, I hosted a fundraiser for women experiencing domestic violence and was deeply moved by how many people showed up and donated. Friends told friends. Strangers walking by popped in. It was wonderful.

I’ve carried this truth with me ever since: there are more good people than bad, and good things are always happening, even when it doesn’t feel like it. The revolution is relational.

A few days ago, I was talking with a colleague about how helpless it can feel as difficult events continue to unfold across the globe. We are living in strange, heavy times. What can we really do? How do we make a meaningful impact?

I don’t have all the answers, but I shared my own ethos: I focus on community. The kind of grounding I talk about more in why I write here.

Revolution is Relational – A 15-Minute Life and the Power of Community

Knowing my nature, I try to make it as easy as possible to live in and support the community around me. For over a decade, I’ve committed to a 15-minute lifestyle: most of the services I rely on are within a 15-minute walk of where I live, and I choose local businesses whenever I can. It’s a small thing, but it means the money I spend stays close and circulates through my neighbourhood.

My favourite coffee shop is a steep 12-minute walk uphill, but I love it there. My dentist is a 10-minute walk away and family-owned. The Asian grocery where I buy my produce is also family-run. I get my eyebrows waxed by a wonderful young woman who migrated to Canada around the same time I did. The pharmacy where I pick up my medications is run by the kindest Iranian husband-and-wife team. My hairdresser is from Nigeria, and the money she earns helps fund her degree. My osteopath recently hiked Machu Picchu and spoke about it with awe. My podiatrist just got engaged and is saving for his first home.

My violin teacher is endlessly encouraging and recently migrated from Hong Kong. My last facial was with a woman who, after years of saving, finally opened her own practice, and it was the best facial I’ve ever had. When the local craft market runs in the fall and winter, I do my Christmas shopping there. I’ve joined my neighbourhood Facebook groups to stay in the loop and support people when I can. I donate regularly through my Buy Nothing group. I make a point of voting, knowing who my local representatives are, and writing letters in support of local causes.

To me, this is what revolution looks like—a thousand small interactions. Stories exchanged. Mutual support. Acts of care for the neighbours and communities we choose to call home. Showing up, imperfectly, inconsistently, but as often as we can.

As a woman often travelling solo in many instances through this timeline, I’ve been deeply cared for by the communities I’ve inhabited. When I moved to Canada alone, knowing no one, colleagues, now friends, helped me find an apartment in a brutal housing market. My friend Shadi helped me move and invited me to gatherings so I could build a social circle. My friend Jenn bought me my first Tim Hortons coffee and breakfast.

When I moved to Toronto, my neighbour gave me her Kallax shelves, which I painted pink and now live in my home. Every summer, I plant herbs in a pot gifted by another neighbour. My favourite earrings came from a clothing swap my friend Jill invited me to.

I have been cared for in more ways than I deserve by communities that didn’t have to, but did.

So I try to show up in the same spirit whenever I feel called to do so.

I hope you do too. I hope you learn your neighbours’ names, not just their dogs’ (I’m guilty of that). I hope that when the world tries to convince us that everything is going to shit, you plant your feet firmly in the ground and say no. We are here. There is good in the world. And there are more of us than them.

The revolution is relational.