How to turn back a tsunami

If you’re not overwhelmed, you’re not paying attention.

We are living through a tsunami of chaos. Political instability. Economic precarity. Climate disruption. And an intensifying pressure to bend to the whims of an authoritarian president whose actions are unraveling the fabric of democracy.

It’s a lot. And it’s weighing heavily on all of us.

In the midst of this storm, I’ve been sitting with a simple, powerful idea: sometimes the smallest, most resonant act can shift an entire system.

This isn’t just poetry—it’s physics. In nonlinear and chaotic systems, a well-timed, resonant signal can create coherence. It doesn’t take overwhelming force. It takes the right frequency. A small input transforms and tames the entire system.

That might sound abstract, but I’ve seen it show up everywhere—from coaching leaders, to watching movements rise, to seeing the wave of peacefulness wash over a room in response to a spiritual teaching. The signal might be a shared ritual, or even a song, something that gently invites us to come home in the face of overwhelm.

Social scientists Erica Chenoweth and Maria Stephan found that based on history, it takes just 3.5% of a population engaged in sustained, nonviolent resistance to topple despotic regimes. The authors rightly caution that change is not just a matter of numbers, but the numbers are a key piece of it. And 3.5% of this country is about 12 million people. That feels doable to me.

How do we reach that critical threshold? It all starts within our own nervous systems.

Doug Silsbee, my teacher and mentor, used to say that the most important leadership skill is presence. Not strategic brilliance, or charisma, but instead the capacity to remain grounded in the midst of complexity—and to radiate that groundedness outward. He spoke of cultivating your nervous system as a “relational field” in which the presence becomes contagious. 

T.S. Eliot called it “the still point in a turning world.”

From that place, we become stabilizers. When we are present—calm, clear, and grounded—we don’t just benefit ourselves. We become a beacon. Others around us begin to entrain to our nervous system. Their breathing slows. Their shoulders drop. Their sense of safety deepens. We become a tuning fork, inviting coherence in those around us. We invite others into rhythm. Into safety. Into action that is sustainable because it’s embodied, not performative.

So what does this look like in practice? Here are some starters:

• Start with yourself. Your work to become an island of resonance, stability, and presence is the scaffolding from which everything flows. 
• You also need to show up and be part of the 3.5%, not with a fist in the air, but with a hopeful heart.
• Pay attention to the leaders who don’t motivate by rage or division, but who bring us home to ourselves. Dr. King, Bishop Tutu, the Dalai Lama and many others have shown us the way.
• Tell and repeat the stories of big changes that seemed impossible, but happened.
• Find a personal ritual or talisman of presence and determination to unite us. Maybe it’s music. A practice. A prayer. Something you come back to when the rest of the world goes sideways.

In my day, every other college freshman had a poster with the familiar Margaret Mead quote on the wall: “Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world. Indeed, it is the only thing that ever has.” Sometimes things become clichés because they are profoundly true.

It’s not wishful thinking.
It’s physics.