I woke up this morning and the first thing I saw were videos of monks walking for peace. There was something so quiet yet powerful about the way they moved: slow, steady steps, palms together, completely present. I didn’t expect it, but it made me tear up. Maybe it’s because the world feels so loud lately, full of conflict and opinions and noise, and then suddenly here are these monks reminding us of something so simple, so human: peace.

Watching them, I felt this urge to join the walk, to be part of that calm energy moving through the world. But I don’t live anywhere near their route, so all I could do was watch from afar and hold that feeling for a moment. Still, I truly hope they reach their destination safely. There’s a fragility to acts like this, so pure that you almost want to protect them.

The funny thing, or maybe the sad thing, is the irony of it all. Peace shouldn’t need a march. It shouldn’t need reminders or rituals or campaigns. It’s supposed to be something we naturally live by. And yet here we are, in a world where monks have to physically walk through towns just to nudge us back toward kindness and calm. It’s a reminder that peace isn’t passive. It’s something we practice, something we learn, and something we forget far too easily.