Lately, I’ve been wrestling with a fear I can’t shake.

Not the kind of fear that hits all at once, like a car crash or a sudden diagnosis—but the slow, creeping kind. The kind that lingers in the background of conversations, media headlines, political rallies. The kind that gets louder when those in power speak with divine certainty about who “belongs” and who doesn’t.

I’ve been reading about Germany in the 1930s—not just Hitler, but the clergy who stood beside him. The pastors who believed they were doing what was best for their congregations and their country. The ones who wrapped their faith around a rising nationalist movement, thinking it would protect what they loved.

Most of them didn’t wake up one morning and decide to support fascism. They were misled by rhetoric that sounded familiar: restore the nation, protect the family, defend religion, punish the corrupt. And by the time they realized what they had enabled, it was too late to stop it.

That’s the part that haunts me.

Last night, I watched something I’ve been dreaming about for years — the Oklahoma City Thunder won the NBA championship.

If you’ve followed this team the way I have, you know this wasn’t just a season win. It was years of building. Of heartbreak. Of patience. Of holding on when it felt like we were constantly resetting. And then… this year. This improbable, electric, heart-filling run. The city lit up. Strangers hugged. My group chats exploded. And for a few beautiful minutes, it felt like the world slowed down to let OKC have its moment.

But not long after, I opened my phone and felt the floor drop again.

The headlines: Iran. Warships. Retaliation. Casualties. “We’re under attack.”

Many people assume that without religion, life lacks purpose. This belief is deeply ingrained in our culture, making it difficult for those of us who don’t subscribe to faith-based ideologies to answer the question: Why are we here? But the truth is, meaning isn’t something handed to us from above—it’s something we create for ourselves.

At the heart of the divide between secular humanism and religious humanism is the question:
Why do people choose to be good?

For religious believers, morality is often tied to divine reward and punishment—heaven for the righteous, hell for the wicked. Even when good deeds are done sincerely, they often come with an external incentive.

“If you don’t believe in God, what’s stopping you from doing whatever you want?”

I remember the first time I was asked this question.

It wasn’t meant as an attack—it was genuine curiosity.

And honestly?

I still don’t have all the answers. And that’s okay.

Because I’ve learned that belief isn’t about certainty—it’s about curiosity.

The American Dream should not be reserved only for those with European heritage or inherited privilege. It should be available to all who seek to build a better life—just as it was for Romana Acosta Bañuelos, Elon Musk, and countless others who dared to dream.

America has thrived because of its diversity, its openness, and its willingness to welcome dreamers and doers. If we want to remain a global leader, we need to fix our broken immigration system—not build higher walls, but build better bridges.