A Letter to My Fellow Architects of Change

I wrote this week’s essay before political activist Charlie Kirk was gunned down on Wednesday afternoon. I didn’t know him personally, and our politics weren’t the same, but the news and video rocked me to my core and took my breath away.

I first heard about it from my son in our family text chain. Each of my grown kids, all similar in age to Kirk, reacted with horror and disbelief.

The brutality of his murder, caught on video, left them all feeling shaken and fearing for our country. I told them not to watch the video, reminded them I loved them, and asked them to pray for Kirk’s wife, children, family, and friends.

For a moment, I considered throwing out the essay I’d already written for today’s Sunday Paper so that I could address this latest act of political violence, but also some of the other recent acts of senseless violence in our nation, including the tragic murder of a young Ukrainian refugee in North Carolina or the latest school shooting in Colorado. But I ultimately decided against it because I know you come here for more than breaking news. We’re also covering Kirk in our own way below, both in our News section and in an interview I taped with my cousin Kerry Kennedy, who lost her father, Sen. Robert F. Kennedy, when he was assassinated. I felt she could uniquely speak to what it’s like to live through such a violent event, how it stays with you for the rest of your life, and what we can all do—regardless of political affiliation—to try to come together at this moment.

Mostly, though, I kept my original column below because I know you come here for something you don’t get in other publications. You’ve told me you come here for inspiration, perspective, hope, and reassurance in the good that still exists in our humanity. You’ve told me you come here to feel supported in your pursuit of a life of meaning above the noise. You come here to be inspired by others who share their learnings from the frontlines of life.

At a time like this, I know our mission at The Sunday Paper to move humanity forward matters more than ever. That’s why I kept my original essay, because it focuses on our humanity. It focuses on why it’s a critical time for us all to recognize our collective humanity and reclaim it. So here is what I wrote before our tragic week unfolded.

My fellow Architects of Change, I’m honored to be back here connecting with you in this space. I’m eager to hear how you’ve been since I’ve been away. How are you feeling this Sunday morning?

As for me, I’ll begin with a quick slideshow of my past few weeks!

I awoke the other morning not to darkness, but to light. The sun was shining brightly inside my room, and the rays outside were fanned out across the sky. I took a deep breath as I looked out my window and said out loud: Wow, that’s magical. I then thanked God for giving me the chance to experience such magic, to feel his blessings, and to be alive.

This was the morning after my son Patrick’s wedding, which was magical in its own right. I found myself feeling immense gratitude for the magic of this moment in my life, as well as for my family, my faith, my friends, and the spirit of love. I focused on the many blessings in my life, and for once, didn’t focus on the chaos of our world. What a relief that was. I allowed myself to sink into the moment and try to etch it in my heart and body so I could return to it whenever I needed, especially in the months ahead as the rest of the year kicks into high gear.

I always try to unplug during my August break, but the truth is that this year, I didn’t do as good a job disconnecting from emails and business as I’ve done in the past. Maybe it was the wedding planning. Or maybe it was just the fact that it’s harder than ever to step away from work and a news cycle that finds you no matter where you go.

Still, I did my very best to make family the theme of my August. I spent time with family back east, family out west, and with my own expanding family, which culminated in my son Patrick and his wife Abby’s wedding. Weddings, by the way, are emotional rollercoasters. They take you back in time, spin you through a whole spectrum of feelings, and remind you that every moment matters.

Another thing I did manage to do well during my time away was take care of my health. At this age, it feels like a full-time job: catching up on doctor appointments and finding new doctors (because yes, they retire just when you need them most!). My advice to those younger than me is to put your health first. Not your career. Not even your kids or your partner. Your holistic health. That’s why I’m so excited that The Sunday Paper is launching Be Healthy, a new vertical devoted to living strong, independent, healthy lives at every stage—especially as we radically reframe aging.

Speaking of aging, I’m almost 70. Wait, what?! It’s hard for me to believe because I still feel 50 (maybe even 48). At 50, I had so many goals. And at 60, I had even more. Now here I stand approaching another decade, and I feel like I’ve checked most of them off my list. I must admit that this both scares me and makes me happy. For the first time ever, I find myself standing in the open field without a big to-do list. Also, I share this with you not to boast, but to remind you that if you persevere, focus, and ignore the naysayers, then you really can create the life you envision.

At Patrick’s wedding, as I watched him say “I do” in a wide-open field, I closed my eyes and felt time collapse. It seemed like just yesterday that I was rocking him to sleep, whispering “I love you,” and smoothing the hair from his eyes. And now here he was, beginning a new chapter. In that moment, I felt what I felt when I awoke in the sunlight: gratitude. For life. For love. For the chance to witness joy. For this community that welcomes me back.

Now, as I prepare for this fall season and what lies ahead, I want to focus on what I can do to keep moving forward. And by that I mean moving myself forward and moving humanity forward, because it’s never been more important.

My friends, I don’t know about you, but artificial intelligence has dominated nearly every conversation I’ve had lately. And that’s gotten me thinking.

While the world races to make machines smarter, I’m worried that we’re forgetting to ask ourselves the most essential question: How do we become better humans? After all, what makes us human isn’t just intelligence (especially the artificial kind). It’s love, connection, purpose, and resilience. It’s our capacity to create beauty from brokenness, to choose hope over despair.

Machines will always outthink us. But they cannot out-love us. They cannot out-care, out-nurture, or out-compassion us. That is our gift. It’s also our responsibility, particularly at a time such as this. I’ve spent my career uncovering hidden truths, advocating for women’s brains, bodies, and voices, fighting for those with Alzheimer’s, championing families, and reporting on our collective struggles. Through it all, I’ve learned that what sustains us isn’t data or output. It’s memory. It’s meaning. It’s purpose. It’s love and community.

I’ve lived through a lot of life’s experiences, and I’ve worn a lot of hats: journalist, writer, advocate, daughter, sister, mother, grandmother, wife, caregiver, First Lady, entrepreneur, producer, publisher, poet, spiritual seeker. I’ve buried both of my parents. I’ve buried dear friends and cousins way too early. I’ve faced grief, trauma, and divorce. I’ve been hopeless and hopeful. I’ve pretty much experienced the full spectrum of human life. I know it to be magical, mysterious, difficult, wonderful, and life-altering—but all that is what makes it worth living!

So let the machines code. Let them calculate. But let us—with our beating hearts—rise to this moment. Let us care, nurture, and nourish one another. Let us choose authentic humanity, because authentic humanity wins every time.

That’s why I return here with clarity and purpose. My mission—as journalist, storyteller, mother, grandmother, and advocate—remains the same: to shine light on the untold human stories. To hold space for dignity, memory, and connection. To elevate the human story across everything I do—The Sunday Paper, my conversations, the Open Field Publishing imprint MOSH, and my work in women’s health and Alzheimer’s research.

As I stand on the brink of this new decade, my call to service only intensifies. This moment feels spiritual to me. We must choose humanity. Our humanity. We must elevate it. We must help one another rise. Because if we don’t, the machines will outpace us, outsmart us, and trample what makes us who we are. We cannot let that happen.

In closing this morning, one of the freedoms I hold dear is the freedom to openly and safely practice my faith, to openly and safely express my point of view, and to be a member of a safe and free press. All of those freedoms come courtesy of being in a democracy built by courageous human beings.

If I have those rights, so do others I may not agree with. Their humanity is as important as mine, their rights as free as mine.

The other day, my kids asked me, “Was it like this when you were our age? Did you feel that your life was on the line if you said something politically?”

Even though both of my uncles were gunned down by an assassin’s bullet, the climate wasn’t this hateful, this volatile, or this inhumane. Back then, it was our collective decency and our collective humanity that raised us up, that brought us together, and that allowed us to see one another in our celebrations and grief as one.

We must find our way back to this. Otherwise, the rage, the hatred, and the algorithm that fuels it will have won.

It’s my mission to help us get there, and I'm hopeful that our shared mission to be Architects of Change can help reassure us of the good in this world and bring us back together. I believe with my whole heart, body, and soul that we are all spiritual beings having a uniquely human experience, and that we each must work hard to see each other as human beings with our own pain, struggles, and fears. We are all someone’s child. We must rise above the algorithm’s desire to instill fear and tear us apart. We must trust in our capacity to listen, to love, and try yet again to form a more united union within ourselves and within our country.

So while everyone else obsesses over artificial intelligence, I’m going to do all I can to work on the very things that keep us human, and that includes our love, our grief, and our ability to offer friendship to one another. Let AI win at being the smartest, but let us focus on what makes us authentically human. That’s what we can excel at. Humanity and community are what we all need right now.

We all deserve to be safe. We all deserve to speak freely without being attacked. So let’s pause, reflect, and take steps toward moving humanity forward together. Now is not the time to give up on one another. It’s the time to honor our shared humanity, reclaim it, and stand proudly in it. Will you join me?

Also in this week's issue:

• Exploring the Essential Quality We All Need (Especially Right Now)

• Kerry Kennedy and Maria Shriver Reflect on the Generations of Grief Political Violence Leaves Behind

• Diane Button on What It Means to Both Live and Die Well