my late night thoughts on humility, sonder and apathy
Sonder around the people you know can be even more startling than feeling it around strangers. It sneaks up on you — maybe you're sitting across from a friend you’ve had for years, and they’re laughing about something small, something shared. And suddenly it hits you: They have entire days and dreams that you’ll never fully see. They lie awake at night worrying about things they may never have the ability to say aloud. They carry moments that still sting, still shape them, and you’ll never know the full weight of those memories. They have private hopes, silent doubts, inner monologues that unfold in real time while you're sitting next to them, completely unaware. You realize that the people you love — the ones you think you know inside and out — are still vast and mysterious. You’ve only skimmed the surface. Your mother had a life before you. Your partner’s heart was once broken in a way they didn’t talk about. Your best friend sometimes punches the steering wheel and cries alone in their car. The barista you see every day might be writing a romance novel on napkins. The person you live with might be grieving something that doesn’t quite have a name.Â
And it’s humbling, disarming, lonely. But it’s also comforting. It means we’re all more than how we’re seen.
Sonder invites humility. They both remind us that we are not the center of the universe — and neither is anyone else. We all live in overlapping, intersecting worlds that rarely reveal themselves in full. Humility is what allows sonder to soften instead of overwhelm. It asks us to set down the illusion that we can ever fully understand another person — or even ourselves. It reminds us that our perspective is always partial, always incomplete. Humility doesn’t mean thinking less of ourselves, it means making room for ourselves. Plus, when you grasp the richness of others’ lives, it becomes harder to judge quickly, assume, dominate a conversation, or center yourself in every story. Slippery slope that is.
Humility means letting go of the need to be right, or central, or certain. For me it looks like being willing to listen without solving, or to witness without owning. To feel sonder with people you know is to love them more deeply, and also more gently. We must remember that connection is never about knowing everything, it’s about standing beside the mystery and choosing to stay.
With that connection being connected. I want to be documented saying sonder is the opposite of apathy; though at a glance they might seem similar. Both involve recognizing the vastness of other people's lives, but where apathy disconnects, sonder connects. Apathy is emotional detachment. It says, "Everyone has their own problems, not my concern.”, Sonder sounds off, "Everyone has their own problems, and how incredible is that.” The second sentiment invites awe, rather than indifference. Humanity is not about turning away from others, but realizing how much more there is to them than you’ll ever fully know — and holding that with a respect minimum.
If apathy is the disease, maybe sonder is apart of the cure. Now I don’t know how to elicit such an emotion, and I wouldn’t suggest that, but it’s a connection worth stringing some words together over and sharing them.
My life is constant transformation. The moon continues to orbit.
I'm learning to honor that.
