I've been thinking about loss.

My family and I were visiting Florida’s gulf coast when we first heard about COVID-19. In the very beginning, no one knew what the next day would bring, never mind the many months to come. People on social media got busy doing what they do—speculating across the entire spectrum of possibility, raising the alarm on everything from an imminent travel ban to martial law. Our routines—school, work, appointments, hobbies—came to a screeching halt as the world scrambled to determine the next best steps toward what would become a very long stretch of confusion, exhaustion, isolation, and unimaginable loss.

Our oldest children returned to Dallas from California and Florida to be part of our quarantine bubble, which meant all eight of us would lock down in one house with nowhere to go and temporary freedom from the grind. I knew we would never have this time together again. Not like this. We made puzzles. Played games. Sat around the kitchen island over breakfast and lunch and dinner and talked and laughed on repeat. We reconnected to our own and each other’s dreams and stories. We asked existential questions and allowed them to linger without answers. As painful as it was to watch COVID-19 wreak havoc on the world, I felt blessed to have our children home with us before they would leave the nest for good.

During this time, network anchors interviewed expert after expert about how our unexpected brush with mortality might change us for the better. Nearly 15 million people died because of COVID-19 in the first two years of the pandemic. The dramatic loss of life signaled our own fragility, making small things seem smaller and big things—like personal connection—seem even more important. The preceding years of greed, materialism, and growing division left many of us in need of a major reset. We were hopeful that we might reclaim our shared humanity. Until we weren’t. Sadly, COVID-19 was the wake-up call that we, in true egoic fashion, pressed snooze on. We didn’t learn much. In fact, we renovated our echo chambers, turned the beds down, and fluffed the pillows.

Now, we’re living with the lasting effects of the pandemic and the contentious years before: persistent and emboldened racism. Ongoing misogyny. Politicized gender identity battles. The fight between gun rights and gun control. Tension between freedom of speech and freedom of choice. The demand for accountability muddled by cancel culture. Growing mental illness and failing mental health. Generational divides. Climate emergencies. Financial instability. Tech booms and tech bursts. Mass layoffs. And the cycling threat--and reality--of war. It’s a lot. Some mornings, if I’m being honest, I find it hard to breathe. Today is one of those days. And still, there’s work to do.

While few of these forces originated in the workplace, they have all made their way there, manifesting in how we think about the future and how we manage the present.? These looming conflicts both propel and paralyze us—we’re afraid to stand still, and equally concerned about moving in the wrong direction. In my nearly fifty years on this planet, I’ve not personally known a more tumultuous time in which to live and work. There is little beyond us that feels sure anymore, and the less we can confidently rely on what has always been true, the more likely we are to seek refuge in our comfort zones, control what is controllable, and fight like hell to beat back the monsters at the door. At least in our comfort zones, we are right and good and safe. Out there? That’s where the wrong, bad, and dangerous people are.

Except we fail to recognize this one universal truth: they are us. And we are them.

I learned about a concept called "leveraging oppression" from Professor Judi Gebre-Hewit during my freshwoman year at Spelman College. I've thought about this term many times in the years since I graduated and have never been able to find a published definition, which makes me think she made it up. Creative brilliance does that--imagines new frames that help people rethink familiar problems. Systemic oppression aside, which has produced centuries of proof points, the leveraging oppression frame tells us that our pain is worse than the next person's. This allows us to feel more righteous, more important, more in need of attention and resources and love. We do something similar when we want to be perceived as "better" than the next person. We criticize their beliefs, their ideas, their actions, their decisions. We judge the way they look and speak and what they wear. We elevate our own standing--professional or social or political--above theirs. This feeds our ravenous self-importance and solidifies our identity. Simply put, the act of leveraging oppression puts everything I am and everything you are on a proverbial see-saw: my stuff is weighty and grounded. Yours? Light and untethered.

This is the beginning of the end of societies, companies, partnerships, families. When we think we're more important, we stop listening, learning, caring, helping, and collaborating. We scan the other side for signs of danger. We back up, lock the doors to our minds and hearts, and raise the gates. "You're not getting in here with all that!" (Whatever "all that" might be).

We know what we hope to gain when we cut ourselves off from people we see as different from or less than us: protection, safety, peace. But do we know what we stand to lose? Are we even thinking about it?

I am. Every single day. Stay tuned.

With love,

Tara Jaye

Tara Jaye Frank is author of The Waymakers: Clearing the Path to Workplace Equity with Competence and Confidence and founder of The Waymakers Change Group, a human-centered management consulting firm that supports mid-sized and large companies who seek to transform their employee experience and build capacity to lead all people well.? Our proprietary approach, grounded in behavioral research and decades of inclusive leadership expertise, challenges and equips leaders to unleash the potential of all people, thereby promoting healthy workplace cultures and fueling sustainable businesses.?