Steven LaChance Blog

I used to believe I could change the world.

There was a time when I carried that conviction like a torch, its flame burning so brightly it lit up every corner of my soul. I was sure of it—so sure—that through kindness and understanding, through love and compassion, I could make a difference. I believed my voice mattered, that it could spark something bigger than myself, something transformative. I believed in the goodness of people, in the idea that empathy was woven into the very fabric of our humanity.

But now, the world feels different.

It’s as though a veil has been lifted, revealing a reality I can no longer ignore. The cracks in the foundation of my beliefs have grown too wide to overlook. I struggle to comprehend the division and hatred that seem to be spreading like wildfire, consuming everything in their path. I once thought reason could prevail, that dialogue and respect could bridge even the deepest divides. But now, I find myself doubting. Doubting the ideals I held so dear, questioning the very ground on which I stood.

I used to believe in the American dream—the promise of opportunity, of equality, of a better life for anyone willing to work for it. But now, that dream feels like a relic of the past, tarnished by injustice and inequality that loom larger than ever. The gap between the haves and the have-nots stretches wider, and the systems meant to protect us seem to favor the powerful. The dream feels distant, almost mythical, like a story we tell ourselves to keep going.

I used to believe in a loving God, in a higher purpose that guided us through the darkest nights. But now, my faith wavers. The world feels chaotic, untethered, as though we’re drifting further from any divine plan. The suffering I see—the pain, the loss, the senseless cruelty—makes it hard to hold onto that belief. Doubt creeps in, clouding my heart with questions I can’t answer.

I don’t trust those who wear a red hat, who champion ideas rooted in division and exclusion. Their rhetoric feels like a betrayal of everything I thought we stood for. I fear for our future, for a world where hate seems to be gaining ground, where empathy is dismissed as weakness and compassion is seen as a liability. I struggle to hold onto my belief in the rule of law, in the possibility of justice prevailing over corruption and greed.

I have seen history distorted, rewritten to fit the narrative of the powerful. I have witnessed the rise of ideologies that bring only pain and destruction. I have lost my innocence, my naivety about the world and its people. The rose-colored glasses have shattered, and what’s left is a stark, unflinching view of reality.

But even in this darkness, a flicker of hope remains.

It’s small, fragile, like the faintest glow of a dying ember. But it’s there. A hope that maybe, just maybe, we can find our way back. Back to empathy, to understanding, to unity. Back to the belief that we are more alike than we are different, that love and compassion can still guide us. Perhaps, in that hope, lies the spark of change I once believed was possible.

I don’t know if I’ll ever regain the certainty I once had. The world has changed me, and I can’t unsee what I’ve seen. But I refuse to let go of that flicker. Because if I do, then what’s left? If we stop believing in the possibility of change, in the power of our voices, in the goodness that still exists within us, then what are we fighting for?

So, I hold on. To the hope, to the belief that even in the darkest times, light can break through. That even when the world feels broken, we can still find a way to mend it. And maybe, just maybe, that’s enough.

This is my kerosene voice—raw, unfiltered, and burning with the weight of everything I’ve lost and everything I still dare to believe.

And I’m not ready to let it go.