I can’t stand the word empathy, actually. I think empathy is a made-up New Age term that does a lot of damage. — Charlie Kirk
I was working in my studio when I found out. Not from a news alert. Not on KPCW. From Instagram. Someone had posted a breaking story: Charlie Kirk, a young political commentator I’d never heard of, had been shot and killed during a speech at Utah Valley University. A targeted attack, the report said.
Charlie Kirk’s quote about empathy stayed with me. A husband and father of two who reportedly hated the word — killed in a moment that needed it most. I wonder: Does empathy require agreement or does it rise above it?
A few posts down, there was a something else. The 47th school shooting of the year had just taken place in Colorado. Two students critically injured, one gunman dead. It took me a moment to realize these weren’t the same events. Different tragedies, same day. Within an hour of each other.
In between: a salad recipe; a ski reel and an ad for an electric toothbrush. Apparently, this is how we grieve.
We swipe past lives lost and head straight for the comments. That’s where the real dystopia shows up. One person blames the Democrats. Another blames the Republicans for blaming the Democrats. Somebody makes a point about gun control. Someone else says this is exactly why we need more guns.
Very few people say: This is horrible. This hurts.
Empathy is harder than outrage. In an ADHD stream of viral trends, clap-backs and political opinions, where’s the pause? Can we just. take. a breath and sit with a feeling for more than one second?
I finished my work. I made eggs for dinner. I chatted with two friends in a text thread that hadn’t been active for 10 years. Still in my gym clothes from the morning’s workout, I walked around the block with my dog. Came home. Took a shower. I had a headache. Terrible things had happened. And the world had already moved on.
I opened Google Maps to look up where Utah Valley University is. How far away from Park City it is, or how close. How far away from my experience, and how near. I think I wanted to know if I should feel this more deeply. If proximity still matters in a world where everything is happening everywhere, all at once.
Joan Didion once wrote, “We tell ourselves stories in order to live.” I think about that a lot. Maybe I was looking for a story that would make this all feel more real. Or far away enough that it wouldn’t have to matter to me.
What if empathy — or compassion — isn’t about the stories we tell? What if it’s just about not turning away?
As I wrote this, I noticed a news headline, “Five things to know for Sept. 11: Charlie Kirk, 9/11, Colorado school shooting, Georgia ICE raid, Gas truck explosion.” And this just in: FBI releases images of a person of interest in Kirk’s assassination.
There is no space to pause. The world has already moved on.
I’m not trying to make a political point or give a hot take. I just want to sit here and let it all sink in.
I went to bed early that night. As I lay there, I listened to the whoosh of cars driving past my window. People coming home from work. People heading up to Main Street to meet friends for dinner.
Everything continues.
And I keep thinking: What happens to empathy? Does it get replaced by cynicism, outrage, indifference? Or does it simply scroll out of frame like a story we tell ourselves to believe we still care?