What does a '90s teen in a CRX know about national unity?
Coming into wholeness is the only way to heal ourselves and our nation
Hello, Beautiful.
Once upon a time, I was a teen in the ’90s, blasting rap and hip-hop out of my white Honda CRX, cruising around town with the windows down and the sunroof up.
I know. “Vibes,” as my daughter would say.
So when I sat with the word UNITY this week, I kept coming back to Queen Latifah’s U.N.I.T.Y.—that unmistakable hook, that message.
And it got me thinking:
If I were still driving that little two-seater around today and someone waved me over, leaned in, and said,
“Hey girl, you look like you know a thing or two. How do we create more unity?”
I’d lower my sunglasses, nod, and coolly reply,
“Wholeness, my friend.”
And he’d say, “Word.”
And that would be the scene.
But since that’s not happening, I’m going to write this post that answers that very question.
Because I don’t know about you, but unity doesn’t seem so attainable right now.
In the past few weeks, people have been reaching out, asking, What can I do? Others have told me, I see what you’re doing, and it matters.
That’s why I’m writing this. Not because I have all the answers, but because I believe there’s a way forward.
And it starts with coming into wholeness.
We simply can’t talk about unity at a national level if we haven’t done the work at the personal, relational, and community level.
So that’s what this Sunday sermon is all about.
Not just praying for unity but charting the path to build it.
Starting at the ground level and working our way up.
And if you make it all the way to the end, there’s a present for you. Truly, I made you something.
So, let’s get into it.
Coming into personal wholeness
This is the ground level.
We start here, at the most immediate level—ourselves. If we can’t experience unity within, we will bring our own fragmentation into the world around us.
What does It mean to be whole?
Wholeness isn’t perfection. It’s not about fixing yourself or arriving at some enlightened, flaw-free existence.
It’s about integration—accepting every part of yourself instead of compartmentalizing, suppressing, or rejecting what feels inconvenient, painful, or contradictory.
For a long time, I didn’t know this.
I was a good person, but I was also disconnected from myself in ways that were hard to name but obvious in hindsight: insecure, repressed, codependent, hyper-vigilant, over-reactive, judgmental, controlling, ashamed.
Not all at once, not all the time—but when the pressure became too much, these tendencies surfaced. Because what we don’t consciously integrate eventually forces its way out, sideways.
In 2019, it all burned down.
I both let go of and lost everything I had spent almost a decade building—a relationship, a future I had envisioned, my dream home, financial security, a version of myself I thought was real.
It wasn’t just heartbreak. It was an identity collapse.
And when the smoke cleared, I didn’t recognize myself. I felt unmoored. Not human.
It was the kind of disorientation that can either break you completely or forge you into who you are meant to be.
The medicine?
For me, it was my love for my daughter.
Looking at her in the midst of my midlife crisis—this bright, healthy, wildly deserving early-teen girl—I realized something devastating.
I never once questioned that she was worthy of love, happiness, and respect. But somewhere along the way, I had let my own standards for those things erode to nothing.
Why?
Just as I looked at her as a representation of the future, I also needed to look back. And when I did, I saw it.
The limiting beliefs. The fear. The shame. The denial. The wounds of the women in my family, passed down from one girl to the next.
And I understood with terrifying clarity: I could either break the cycle and heal the wound, or pass it on.
The latter was an unbearable prospect.
So I chose healing. I chose to come into wholeness with myself.
Why do we struggle with wholeness at the individual level?
We don’t consciously choose fragmentation.
We inherit wounds we didn’t ask for. We develop survival strategies to cope. We reject parts of ourselves to stay safe. We perform the versions of ourselves that get us love and belonging and hide the versions that threaten it.
And most of us don’t even see it happening.
But the cost of this fragmentation is enormous:
It keeps us in cycles of suffering—living small, unfulfilled, or numb.
It drives disconnection—from ourselves, from others, from our sense of meaning.
It perpetuates division—because hurt people hurt people.
A fractured self leads to a fractured world.
If you want a more unified world, start with yourself.
Practical ways to come into personal wholeness
Commit to healing.
Paint a vision for yourself and dedicate time, energy, and focus to achieving it.
Journal.
Your thoughts and feelings need to be captured and examined, not just spinning in your head and ignored in your body. Writing them down makes them visible, tangible.
Seek real help.
Find someone who can see what you can’t yet. My guide was
—her holistic approach changed my life. You can check out her work, subscribe to , or find your own “Erica.”
Address your consumption.
Removing alcohol, toxic people, sensationalized media, and other energy-draining unhealthy distractions unlocked a whole new level of clarity and creativity.
Become radically accountable.
Instead of blaming external factors, ask: What’s my role in this? What am I tolerating, enabling, or avoiding?
Coming into personal wholeness is a bridge to the next level of unity.
It changes how you show up.
You stop projecting pain onto others. You stop mistaking fear for truth.
You start listening instead of defending.
And that’s when unity starts to expand—because once you’ve made peace within, you can begin the work of creating peace with others.
Coming into wholeness through another
This is where we build altitude.
When we learn to navigate differences with individuals, we gain the altitude to see people not as “sides” but as whole, complex beings.
What does it mean to experience wholeness through another?
Unity in relationships isn’t about agreement.
It’s about seeing the whole person—not reducing them to a single belief, vote, or identity.
When we define people solely by what side they’re on, we flatten them, stripping away the complexities that make them human.
Real unity doesn’t demand sameness. It asks for curiosity, grace, and the willingness to stay in relationship despite our differences.
It’s the ability to say: I don’t agree with you, but I still value you.
When a relationship is whole, there is respect. There is room for difference. And there is a shared commitment to connection—not because it’s easy, but because it’s worth it.
I created this experience with a family member.
We were close when I was a kid, but grew apart during my adulthood. Love was there, but distance made it easy to avoid our differences. Politically, we were diametrically opposed.
This summer, I made a point to reconnect. And one evening, just the two of us sitting at the dinner table, I decided to ask if we could talk about politics.
At first, he shook his head—he didn’t think it was a good idea.
But I pressed, telling him I wasn’t looking to debate or change his mind. I wanted to understand where he was coming from.
He hesitated. And then, he agreed.
What unfolded was something I’m deeply proud of. I brought up every hot-button issue—not to argue, not to “win,” but to listen.
I wasn’t there to convince him of anything. My only goal was to understand why he believed what he believed, to learn about the experiences that had shaped his views, and hear what mattered most to him.
We didn’t fight. We didn’t shut down.
I listened. He listened.
And that changed everything.
Now, our conversations are different. We even watched political content together a few weeks ago—afterwards discussing where we agreed, where we didn’t, and why.
Neither of us has flipped to the other side. But now?
We see each other. Not just through the lens of politics, but as whole people.
And if I’m being honest, I’m not sure I could’ve done this five years ago.
Why do we struggle to experience unity with others?
Because it’s easier to label than to look deeper.
Because we fear that listening = agreeing.
Because it’s uncomfortable. Engaging across differences requires effort, and disengaging is effortless.
But avoidance doesn’t bridge divides. It deepens them.
Coming into wholeness through another transforms us
For me, staying in relationship with family members who disagree with me hasn’t weakened my convictions—it’s strengthened them.
I’ve become even more grounded in my truth, while also deepening my capacity for love, patience, and connection.
But let’s be clear: unity isn’t always possible.
When there’s harm, abuse, or a refusal to engage in good faith, maintaining connection isn’t strength—it’s self-betrayal.
The work isn’t to force connection at all costs.
It’s to discern when it’s possible—and when it’s worth it.
Practical ways to come into wholeness through another
Shift into curiosity.
Instead of thinking, How can I convince them? try What shaped this belief? Ask open-ended questions. Seek to understand before responding.
Practice “the pause.”
When you feel yourself getting reactive, slow down. Don’t fire back. Take a breath. Regulate your emotions before responding.
Validate without agreeing.
Try, “I hear you. That makes sense given your experiences.” Validation builds trust. Trust keeps conversations going.
Find micro-moments of connection.
Remember, you don’t have to agree politically to share a laugh, a memory, or a love for the same football team. Find the common thread and hold onto it.
Coming into wholeness through another is a bridge to the next level of unity.
When we experience true connection despite differences, we model what’s possible.
The way we treat one person sets the tone for how we treat everyone. Our relationships don’t exist in a vacuum—they shape our neighborhoods, workplaces, and communities.
And if we want unity at scale, we have to build it where we are.
Coming into wholeness through community
This is where we expand the horizon.
As our perspective broadens, we see that our relationships exist within something bigger—the communities that shape us, and the ones we shape in return.
And this is where we start to experience greater impact.
What does it mean to come into wholeness through community?
A healthy community isn’t one where everyone thinks the same.
It’s one where different people, values, and ideas are held together by something bigger than their differences.
I’ve seen this kind of wholeness in action.
Thanks to
, Moms Demand Action became the largest women-led nonprofits in the nation. Millions of moms from different backgrounds have come together—not because they agree on everything, but because they share one mission: to fight for public safety measures that protect people from gun violence. Shannon is now building a community of women at .Another example? Burning Man.
Here, a wildly diverse, chaotic, and beautifully weird group of around 70,000 participants build an entire city in the desert for one week each year—not for wages, not for status, but for the sheer joy of creating something together.
In both, there is a shared vision. A sense of purpose. A desire to be part of something bigger than yourself.
That’s what holds communities together.
I came into wholeness through San Francisco.
When I think about my 22 years in San Francisco, I belonged to overlapping communities—tech, art, music, LGBTQ+, and various social circles—all tangled together in a city that wasn’t perfect but always evolving.
It was special not just because of the friendships, but because of the effortless sense of belonging.
For a couple of years, my then-partner and I turned a warehouse in the Mission into a communal workspace.
It was a place where people came to get their startups off the ground, create art (including one ridiculous art car), share ideas at events, play music, dance until dawn, and, most importantly—eat together.
Every Friday night, we opened our home or the communal space for dinner.
There was no agenda, no barrier to entry, no requirement to believe or behave a certain way. Just food, a good game of Rose & Thorn—a ritual that made space for both joy and struggle—conversation, and connection.
Those dinners weren’t just meals. They were anchors.
No matter how chaotic the week had been, no matter what stressors or setbacks we carried, we knew: here, in this space, we were held.
If you want community, create it.
Practical ways to come into wholeness through community
Build real relationships outside your bubble.
Talk to a neighbor you’ve never met. If your community is mostly like-minded, seek out connections with people from different backgrounds, faiths, or life experiences.
Show up locally
Change doesn’t just happen in Washington, D.C.—it happens in your city, state, and community—and grows from there. Attend a town hall, school board, or city council meeting. Support local journalism—it keeps your community informed and accountable.
Make your skills a community resource.
If you’re a designer, help a local nonprofit refresh their website. If you’re a writer, create a Substack and build an online community. If you’re a singer, go on tour serving assisted-living communities.
Feed people.
Food is a universal bridge. Host a community meal. Support legislation and initiatives that address food insecurity. We could end hunger. We’re just choosing not to.
Coming into wholeness through community is a bridge to the next level of unity.
A strong community gives us a glimpse of what’s possible—a world where people look out for one another, where differences don’t automatically mean division, where belonging is felt, not earned.
The real test is what happens beyond the communities we choose.
How do we experience a sense of wholeness with a country that often feels so very broken?
Coming into wholeness through country
This is the 30,000-ft view.
From up here, the contradictions of America become clearer. The question is: can we hold its imperfections and its promise at the same time?
America is a paradox. Our relationship to it is complicated.
We love America, and we’re frustrated with it.
We are proud of what it stands for, yet disillusioned by how often it falls short.
We hold up ideals like freedom, justice, and equality, knowing full well they have not been extended to everyone equally.
If America were a relationship, we’d be in couples therapy.
The kind where one partner is full of potential but keeps making the same destructive mistakes, and the other partner is torn between walking away or staying to help it become what it’s capable of being.
This is the tension of belonging.
How do we stay connected to something that disappoints us? How do we reckon with the contradictions, the wounds, the broken promises—without walking away?
The easy answer is: We check out. We throw our hands up. We disengage.
The harder answer—the one that asks something of us—is this:
We take responsibility for our role in shaping it.
I came into wholeness through America.
It wasn’t through a political moment. It wasn’t during an election, a protest, or a national crisis.
It was through the land itself.
One summer, I spent eight weeks traveling the country.
Backpacking through the Sierras, Bryce Canyon, Death Valley. Rafting the Grand Canyon. Backcountry camping in Zion, the Grand Tetons, and Yellowstone.
I traced America’s history through Washington D.C., Philadelphia, and Nantucket.
I celebrated Independence Day in New York City.
And in those moments—standing in the grandeur of a national park, walking the same paths where history was made—I felt an unshakable connection to our country. I felt one with it.
Because America is not just its government. It’s not just its problems.
It is its land.
It is its people.
And it is the tension between what it was, what it is, and what it has the potential to become.
When I look at the deepening inequality, the attacks on human rights, the unraveling of truth in our political discourse—I feel the same exhaustion and frustration as you and so many others.
How do you stay in a relationship with a country that continues to fail so many of its people? How do you love a place that, at times, feels so unlovable?
I‘m not an expert, but what I do know is this:
The people who have made America better—the ones who have expanded its freedoms and fulfilled its promise—didn’t walk away.
They stayed.
They engaged.
They pushed.
They held the contradictions and worked to make them less contradictory.
Just like at the personal level, we have to reckon with our past to build a better future.
We cannot talk about unity at a national level without reckoning with:
The ways this country has failed its most vulnerable.
The people it has excluded from its promises.
The deep wounds that still shape our present.
Reckoning does not mean erasing. It does not mean dwelling in shame.
It means acknowledging both the harm and the hope.
It means seeing the full picture—where we’ve been, where we are, and where we can go.
But what can one person do?
It’s easy to feel powerless right now.
But I assure you, we are not powerless.
Practical ways to come into wholeness through country
Support leaders who reflect the country we want to become
Help more women and underrepresented voices get elected. Follow and amplify the work of grassroots organizers—people who are expanding the table, not just sitting at it. Research your local, state, and national candidates—not just during elections, but year-round.
Commit to preserving truth & history
Educate yourself on American history—especially the parts we weren’t taught. Push back against efforts to erase history in schools and public policy. Seek out perspectives beyond your own lived experience.
Protect the land we share
Support conservation efforts in your local, state, and national parks. Reduce waste, use your voice to advocate for environmental policies, and support sustainable businesses. Get involved with groups that restore ecosystems, plant trees, and clean up public spaces.
Expand your perspective beyond your political bubble
Read news and books from different viewpoints—not just what confirms your beliefs. Get to know someone whose life experience is vastly different from yours. Instead of assuming, ask more questions.
Engage in real conversations
Not all political discussions need to be an online debate. Some of the most powerful shifts happen through quiet, thoughtful dialogue—not online, but face-to-face. Ask someone, “What experiences shaped your beliefs?” instead of “How could you think that?”
Find one way to participate—beyond just voting
Organize, advocate, or amplify—even if it’s just forwarding this email or having a conversation. Support policies that strengthen democracy. Join a local or national organization doing work you believe in.
Yes, the problems we face are massive. Yes, the system is flawed.
But the future of this country is not predetermined.
We shape it by what we do—or don’t do—right now.
Pick something and start today.
The work doesn’t start somewhere out there—it starts right here. With me. With you. With us. With the choices we make every day to heal, to connect, to build.
It won’t be easy. It won’t be instant.
But I believe coming into wholeness is the only way to heal ourselves and our nation.
So, what will you choose?
~ Linzi
As promised, I have a gift for you. I did what any teen in the 90s would do. I made you a playlist and guess what it’s called?
You can access and save this Spotify playlist here. Three and a half hours of music that will remind you of the power of love and solidarity artists have been singing about since the beginning.
P.S. Next week, I’m switching gears and sharing something completely different—one of my most embarrassing moments. Coincidentally, it also happened when I was a teen in the ’90s, but this time, I was living in Finland as an exchange student. I’ve only told this story a handful of times, but it deserves to be written. And honestly, what better place to entertain friends and strangers by baring it all than right here?
Ok WOW! There is so much here and I am glad I had the time to read it slowly, sometimes re-reading and repeating key parts. You need to share this far and wide. Everyone needs to read it, several times. Restacking next. 🙏💜
Linzi, I believe this essay about our nation is your best so far. It is clear, thoughtful and intelligent. Thank you for these thoughts. I wish it could be published to a much wider audience. Keep writing! ❤️❤️