Memphis, Bridges, and the Courage to Keep Climbing
- Feb 1, 2023
- 3 min read
There are places that live in the landscape.
Then there are places that live inside us.
For me, Memphis has always been both.
It has always felt magical and wounded at the same time. A city filled with incredible music,
remarkable resilience, unforgettable food... and deep divisions that have never fully healed.
Growing up in Jackson, Tennessee, Memphis was just ninety-six miles away, but it often
felt like stepping into a different world.
I've crossed the Hernando de Soto Bridge more times than I could ever count.
Westbound toward Albuquerque.
Shreveport.
Austin.
St. Louis.
Des Moines.
And countless places in between.
I've always loved flying, but there's something about traveling by road that slows the soul
just enough to notice things. Every mile tells a story. Every bridge reminds us we're always
traveling from one place to another, whether we realize it or not.
Today, that bridge reminds me of Tyre Nichols.
His life ended with a violence that should never belong in a civilized society. His family lost
a son. Friends lost someone they loved. The world lost another human being whose story
deserved far more chapters than he was given.
Yet something survived.
Love always does.
The body can be buried.
Compassion cannot.
Kindness cannot.
The light someone leaves inside another human being doesn't disappear simply because
their heartbeat does.
That realization keeps pulling me back.
Not toward hatred.
Not toward revenge.
But toward listening.
Real listening.
One of the greatest gifts I've received in recent years has been realizing how much I still
have to learn. My own life experiences shaped the way I understood the world. They also
limited what I could see.
Sometimes the bravest thing any of us can do isn't speaking.
It's becoming quiet enough to hear someone else's story without immediately trying to
explain it away.
Every life is viewed through a different window.
Different neighborhoods.
Different schools.
Different fears.
Different opportunities.
Different histories.
Understanding begins when we admit our own window isn't the only one.
None of us can rewrite history.
But every one of us helps write tomorrow.
That responsibility belongs to all of us.
Justice isn't built through slogans.
Compassion isn't created by winning arguments online.
Real change grows slowly, conversation by conversation, relationship by relationship, heart
by heart.
During Tyre Nichols' funeral, Reverend Al Sharpton spoke about mountain climbers.
Mountain climbers don't spend their time staring into the valley below.
They keep climbing.
One careful step.
Then another.
That image has stayed with me.
Progress rarely arrives all at once.
Most meaningful change doesn't.
It looks like ordinary people choosing courage over comfort.
Listening instead of assuming.
Learning instead of defending.
Loving instead of fearing.
Crossing bridges instead of building walls.
Maybe that's why I keep thinking about Memphis.
Not because it's perfect.
Because it isn't.
Because neither are we.
Every city carries beauty beside brokenness.
Every family.
Every nation.
Every heart.
The question isn't whether darkness exists.
The question is whether we're willing to become a little more light.
If enough ordinary people choose compassion over contempt, curiosity over certainty, and
humanity over division, perhaps future generations will inherit something better than we did.
Maybe that's how mountains are climbed.
Not in giant leaps.
One faithful step at a time.
Stay grounded, stay growing, and keep a little side-eye for the nonsense...
— Cat V.
I'm committed to listening, I hope you'll commit too!