As I rode a packed LRT train to work yesterday, standing in my regular spot near the doors, I watched people get off and on for the three stops it takes to get there. I watched the morning world going by outside. The mailman on his delivery route. The woman pushing a stroller with three other kids in tow. The guy fixing his car in the driveway. The kid on the corner in expensive shoes.

Just the afternoon before, most of us were united on a warm spring day, looking toward the heavens at the celestial event of a lifetime. As the train rolled along, I was sort of looking to see if any of us seemed any different the day after the eclipse.

Some ancient societies believed a celestial event like that to be a bad omen — that the sun or moon vanishing from the sky was a harbinger of disaster. A sign of devastation or destruction to come. But I stood outside Monday afternoon, in my eclipse glasses, staring up at this astronomical wonder, instead imagining the beginning of a time of renewal.

And then yesterday morning, there I was again. Standing on the train, scrolling through my phone, seeing the multitude of wrongs we do to each other — before my day even started. lt took a conscious effort to stop and look up at the good people around me. And I just thought to myself: Listen, the next time you turn on the news and think the world is burning, let your heart realize that there are people who are trying to find ways to not only put out the fire —but to also plant a flower.

The world is mostly good. Don’t go believing the hype that it’s not.

Remember the eclipse; the light always returns.