Last week, life threw quite a pie in our collective face

I find myself thinking that it’s getting harder to know what (or whom) to count on these days. 

 

And one of the more direct side effects of this, for me, is that I feel disoriented. I’m not sure what to do with my disappointment, disillusionment, and at moments, my despondency over what I’m hearing and reading in the news. So, today, I’m taking the liberty of grappling with these feelings out loud, partly for cathartic purposes, and partly because I’d like to think grappling is contagious. If it is, maybe something here can help you grapple, too. 

Besides, the easier options are taken.

 

Last week, life threw quite a pie in our collective face and suddenly, many of us questioned everything. And by everything, I mean in what – and in whom – have we placed our trust? In what and in whom have we counted on … to point the way … to emotional freedom, to peace, to enlightenment? To a happier life?

 

The recent revelations about who moved in Jeffrey Epstein’s orbit—people once associated with wisdom or higher consciousness—have left a particular kind of ache for me and I suspect for many. It’s rattling to realize that even those who speak about light can have shadows we never imagined. And it forces us to ask: what do we do with the disappointment of discovering that the people we counted on were human all along? (And by human, I mean a being who possesses the range of every emotion there is and potentially displays it.) 

 

When I first learned of Deepak Chopra’s relationship and conversations with Jeffrey Epstein, my stomach sank. Then, my mind became a pinball machine. I ricocheted from outrage to cynicism to “Should I have known better?” than to put anyone on a pedestal.

 

But then I remembered, we humans are neither easy nor uncomplicated. And we’re surely not single-faceted. Not the ones of us with the microphones. Not the ones with the best-selling mantras. And sadly, not the ones we hoped were living the lives they were teaching us to live.

 

If only they were cleaner, our pedestal sitters. More consistent. Just better at being human.

 

But no one is. Not them. Not us. Certainly, not me.

 

And so, I’m left in the uncomfortable middle: if I judge them, does that mean I think of myself as beyond reproach? Incapable of strange and hurtful behavior? Moral always, and without exception? I could provide letters of recommendation from people I have hurt, offended and disappointed that might suggest otherwise. Not proud.

 

But if I withdraw my hope from all teachers, leaders, and gurus, where does that leave me? I’m a person who is big on role models.

 

There is, however, one place where any and all ambiguity falls away. A place where spiritual kung fu stops and a moral line becomes crystal clear. A place with certitude, no in-between: children.

 

When harm to children or minors is anywhere in the equation, our response is not abstract or hesitant. It is protective, immediate, non‑negotiable.

 

We can grapple with the psychology and the shadow, but our duty is simple: safeguard the vulnerable, speak out against exploitation clearly and strongly, and hold accountable those who harm or enable harm—not as moral superiority, but as a practical act to ensure they cannot harm again. This is not judgment. It is adult responsibility. 

 

In the end, though, once we’ve protected the vulnerable and called out the harmers we come back to the ache of the disappointment. We return to the work of reconciling the light someone offered with the shadow they lived.

 

Maybe the point isn’t to find someone flawless to follow. Maybe the point is to learn how to hold the whole truth of being human—our own and everyone else’s—without turning away. Maybe we ought to re-think pedestals.

 

Yes, it’s hard to know what (or whom) to trust. Yet I feel strongly that the antidote to this is our ability and willingness to live like someone who is trustworthy.