Argomenti trattati
Published 9:00 am Thursday, April 16, 2026. Life moves in chapters, and each of those sections carries its own texture and learning. In this column I share observations gathered from years onstage, at kitchen tables and in classrooms. My aim is to show that the ordinary moments—reading aloud, singing with family, praying with intention—are all ways we shape and reveal the narrative we offer the world. The practice of stepping fully into a line, a phrase, or a ritual can alter how we relate to others and to ourselves.
Many who have been part of community theater or church choirs will recognize how quickly strangers become kin. There is a kind of belonging that forms behind curtains and around sheet music. That belonging is not accidental: it is built by repeated acts of vulnerability and attention. When we intentionally practice empathy and compassion, our small communities gain emotional muscle. Below I unpack three ways to cultivate that muscle and offer concrete examples you can try at home.
Theater as a laboratory for feeling
Being in a play or musical forces you to inhabit someone else’s choices, rhythms and burdens. In that environment actors learn to trust the work of character study and the discipline of listening. Technically, the actor discovers the value of attention: the stage teaches you to respond rather than react. In practical terms this means learning to hold a line of dialogue with presence, to breathe where another person breathes, and to allow pauses to become meaningful. These skills translate offstage into a greater capacity to notice nuance in real conversations and to remain present when someone shares a worry.
A classroom moment that mattered
When I was a senior reading aloud in English class, I didn’t just read words; I tried to live them. That risk of showing feeling invited unintended reactions—some classmates snickered—and I felt small for a moment. Still, the teacher’s encouraging response reminded me that sincere expression has value even when it looks awkward. That early humiliation could have stopped me, but instead it became instructive: an instance of public vulnerability that taught the difference between playing safe and speaking honestly. The lesson: heartfelt expression is a muscle you strengthen by using it.
Voice, ritual and the power of words
Growing up in a family where singing was common shaped how I treat language. Songs taught me that words carry weight and tone matters. Whether in a hymn, a poem, or a conversation, choosing to put feeling behind phrases changes their effect. Rituals—like a family prayer—offer a regular opportunity to practice that depth. When you move from rote recitation to intentional saying, the content of the words often becomes more accessible and healing, both for the speaker and for the listeners who witness the honesty.
The Easter prayer anecdote
I remember an Easter service when I decided to say the Lord’s Prayer with full feeling rather than as a mechanical text. My son nudged me in the ribs the first time, perhaps uncomfortable with the extra intensity, but I continued anyway. That small domestic moment highlights a useful truth: others may not be ready for your fuller expression, yet choosing sincerity can be a gift to yourself and sometimes, eventually, to them. In other words, your willingness to show depth can normalize emotional availability in your circle.
Putting empathy into daily practice
Empathy is not only a lofty ideal; it is a set of habits you can cultivate. Start by reading dialogue aloud from a favorite book to feel how tone reshapes meaning, or sing a line until its emotion lands in your chest. Practice pausing and asking questions that invite another person to elaborate. These are simple exercises but they expand your capacity to listen deeply. When you intentionally practice these moves, your relationships change: conversations gain texture and people feel seen.
Practical steps to begin
Try one concrete experiment this week: read a short scene aloud with a friend, or say a familiar prayer with attention to every word for three consecutive mornings. Label the experience as an exercise in presence and observe how people respond. Keep a small note about what shifts—did you feel braver, did someone open up more to you, did silence feel less threatening? These observations create feedback loops that help you refine the practice and integrate it into everyday life.
As Barack Obama said, “Learning to stand in somebody else’s shoes, to see through their eyes, that’s how peace begins. And it’s up to you to make that happen. Empathy is a quality of character that can change the world.” Carry that sentence like a prompt: let it remind you to step into stories with curiosity rather than judgment. We are all collections of chapters, and the more willingly we share them, the richer our connections become. Pamela Loxley Drake is a Beaverton resident and self-described lifelong “farm girl.” You can contact her at [email protected].