Welcome back to The Neighborhood Table - your seat is here.

At The Neighborhood Table, we gather to think deeper, speak honestly, and build the kind of community the world keeps saying is impossible. Every issue is a moment, a mirror, and a practice. Pull up a seat. The conversation begins here.

In this issue, we sit with trust in a more personal way. How it forms, how it breaks, and how it quietly influences the way we show up with ourselves and others. No lectures. Just awareness, reflection, and an invitation to look at trust as something that moves, not something we either have or lose.

Neighbor, pull up a chair for a second.

I'd like to discuss trust with you today.

Lately, I have been thinking a lot about trust. Not as a concept. Not as a buzzword. But as something that quietly shapes how we move through our days.

How we speak.
How we listen.
How we protect ourselves.
How we show up when things get uncomfortable.

The older I get, the more I realize trust is always present, whether we acknowledge it or not.

And the truth is, we all handle it differently.

For some people, trust is sensitive, tied to wounds that still ache.
For others, trust is reckless, given freely until it breaks.
Most of us live somewhere in between, shaped by experiences we rarely slow down enough to examine.

When we talk about trust, we usually talk about it in pieces.

A broken moment.
A betrayal.
An offense.

But trust is not just a moment. It is movement.

Trust is not limited to intimate relationships.

It shows up in how we treat ourselves.
In how we work with peers.
In how we follow or challenge leaders.
In how we serve communities.
And especially at the table, where conversations feel tense, and nobody wants to say the wrong thing.

Trust lives everywhere.

And yet, we rarely talk about it as a system.

For a long time, I believed that once trust was broken, that was it.
No rebuilding. No repair.

I believed that because I had been hurt.
Because I had seen trust abused and mishandled.

Then one day, I found myself on the other side of the table.

I broke trust.

Not intentionally.
Not maliciously.
But undeniably.

And suddenly, I was not debating whether trust could be rebuilt.
I was hoping it would be.

That moment changed me.

It forced me to stop seeing trust as a verdict and start seeing it as a process.

One comment.
One silence.
One decision you thought was small.

And on the other side of that moment, someone is carrying weight you never meant to hand them.

That was one of the hardest lessons for me.

This is where my thinking shifted.

Trust is a two way street.
But many of us only drive one direction.

We want trust extended to us.
We want grace when we miss the mark.
We want understanding for our intentions.

But we do not always see how our actions, tone, or absence shape the road for others.

That is when I stopped thinking about trust as a word and started seeing it as an engine.

Trust is not something you either have or lose.

It is something that powers how everything functions.

This is where my thinking finally came together.

I stopped asking whether trust was broken
and started asking where it was breaking.

That question changed everything.

Because trust does not live in one place.
It moves through specific spaces, whether we name them or not.

That is what I call The Trust Engine.

Not a theory.
Not a motivational idea.
A working system I have watched succeed and fail in real time.

There are five spaces where trust either moves forward or stalls.

First, the Community of One.
The trust you have in yourself.
Your integrity. Your consistency. Your awareness.
Because if you do not trust yourself, everything else is built on tension.

Second, the Community of Peers.
The people you work alongside.
Where trust shows up in communication, accountability, and shared responsibility.
This is where resentment grows if things stay unspoken.

Third, the Community of Leaders.
Not just titles, but influence.
This is where trust breaks when decisions feel disconnected, unclear, or performative.
People do not resist leadership. They resist uncertainty.

Fourth, the Community You Serve.
The outside facing trust.
The relationships where intent matters less than impact.
Where trust is earned slowly and lost quickly.

And finally, The Table.

The place where all of it meets.
Where difference sits eye to eye.
Where silence can either protect or poison.
Where trust is tested not by comfort, but by courage.

Those five spaces are always interacting.

When one stalls, the engine sputters.
When two break down, movement slows.
When all five are aligned, trust becomes momentum.

That is what most people miss.

Trust is not fragile because people are weak.
Trust is fragile because the system is ignored.

In law enforcement, I come face to face with trust every day.
Externally and internally.
With the public and within teams.
With leadership and with myself.

And honestly, in my marriage, I have seen trust in ways I never understood before.

Trust is not solely dependent on you.
But it is something you can become more aware of.

It is powerful.
And it is fragile.

Ignoring it does not make it stronger.

So neighbor, let me ask you something. Not as a lesson, but as a conversation.

Where is trust quietly shaping your decisions right now?

Where have you been protecting yourself so much that nothing can move forward?

And where might you be asking for trust without realizing how you have limited it for someone else?

You do not need answers yet.
Just awareness.

This is why Tables and Bridges exists.

Not to lecture.
Not to fix people.

But to create spaces where trust can be rebuilt in divided places.

This table is not about agreement.
It is about presence.

And trust is the engine that makes that possible.

Before we step into 2026, I want to pause with you here for a moment.

New years tend to rush us forward.
New goals. New language. New promises.

But trust does not move on a calendar.

It carries what was built.
And it carries what was avoided.

As this year closes, I am not asking you to fix anything.
I am asking you to notice.

Notice where trust feels steady.
Notice where it feels strained.
Notice where silence has replaced conversation.

Notice how you show up with yourself.
With your peers.
With leadership.
With the communities you serve.
And when you sit at the table.

You do not have to rebuild everything at once.
Engines are restored one part at a time.

As we move into 2026, this space will slow us down enough to see clearly.
To name what matters.
To repair what is worth keeping.
To build trust where it has been missing.

No resolutions required.
Just presence.

Happy New Year, Neighbor.

The table is still here.

If this reflection resonated and you are not subscribed yet, consider this your open invitation. This table has room for you.