The Day the Earth Forgot How to Breathe

The moment I learned Dr. Jane Goodall died, it felt as if the earth forgot how to breathe.

The woman who taught the world to see every soul - in fur, feather, and flesh - had finally joined the forest she spent her life learning from.

I looked out the window, and the air held still, as if the world was collectively bowing in gratitude.

I’ve dreaded this day for a long time. Jane’s passing left the air thinner, the world a little quieter. It also made the work of Defining Sonder feel more urgent than ever.

How can I carry Jane's mission forward: to see, name, and nurture every living being more deeply and intentionally?

Learning to See: What Jane Taught Me About Curiosity

I was a kid when I first learned about Dr. Jane Goodall, and I instantly loved her work. I even named my cat after her. (To be fair, though, Dr. Jane Goodall, the cat, is far less patient and definitely less compassionate.)

What amazed me most about Jane Goodall wasn’t her research or fame but how unlikely her story was.

She entered the forests of Gombe without formal training, guided only by instinct and endless curiosity. To most scientists, that made her unqualified - a young, untrained woman without credentials or credibility.

Luckily, Dr. Louis Leakey saw what others couldn’t - Jane's courage to follow her curiosity.

In the forest, Jane spent hours simply observing. She quickly realized that the chimpanzees weren’t data points to be cataloged; instead, they were individuals with their own habits, tempers, and grief. So she did the unthinkable and gave them all names.

This small but mighty act started to break down the barriers between humans and non-human species, and through lots of patience, Jane upended an entire paradigm.

She revealed that curiosity (not control) is what leads to deep, meaningful connections across (and within) species divides.

Learning to Feel: What Andrea Taught Me About Empathy

Andrea Gibson taught me the other half of what Jane began.

Andrea, who also passed this year, wielded words like truth serum.

Through poetry, they led us into the wilderness of being human - into our grief, vulnerability, and tenderness we’re often taught to hide.

If you ever heard Andrea perform, you know their voice didn’t just fill a room... it broke it open, leaving everyone a little more raw and honest than before.

“Let your heart break so your spirit doesn’t,” Andrea bravely wrote after learning their cancer had spread.

Lately, that line feels less like advice and more like instruction.

The world has lost two voices who taught us how to genuinely listen, and this ache we feel now is proof we learned something from them.

Jane saw into the souls of other species, and Andrea saw into the souls of all of us.

They proved that being raw, open, and empathetic isn’t a weakness; it's a necessary strength to connect in this world.

The Everyday Work of Sonder

My deepest hope is that Defining Sonder will find its breath somewhere between Jane's scientific gaze and Andrea's poetically open heart.

Sonder is the realization that everyone around us carries a story as vivid and complex as our own.

But sonder can’t live as a definition on a page.

It has to move, breathe... take shape in motion.

It should be treated like any other muscle, with the realization that it will strengthen only through use and softens when neglected.

Maybe sonder begins with one real question, the kind that makes you listen differently. Something as small as - What’s been on your mind lately?

I’ll admit, I’m not always good at this. It’s easier to mistake proximity for connection these days.

But when I pause long enough to ask, and really listen, the air shifts. The room seems to widen, and the world feels a little more breathable again. 

This quite act of undivided attention is a clear reminder that seeing others deeply isn’t about grand gestures - it’s simply about being present.

Helping the Earth Remember to Breathe

In the wake of Jane and Andrea's passings, our task feels both simple and sacred:

to listen when it would be easier to turn away,

to feel even when it hurts,

to look a little longer,

to stay open and curious to the lives unfolding around us.

Because sonder is not a noun, it’s a verb. It’s the quiet discipline of paying attention and of choosing, every day, to see and be seen.

The day Jane and Andrea left us, I felt the earth holding its breath, uncertain of what would come next.

But I believe that’s our invitation to embody what they taught us.

One curious question.

One act of attention.

One quiet breath at a time.

With so much love, 

Dre