I Believe: We Are Not Alone

After visiting Roswell, New Mexico—the epicenter of one of the most famous UFO mysteries in history—I’m even more convinced. Something happened out there in 1947, and no matter what version of the story you choose to believe, the questions still linger like the desert wind. The unanswered details. The official denials. The sudden explanations that never quite fit. You don’t walk through Roswell and leave untouched by wonder. Or doubt.

But this isn’t just about flying saucers or crash debris. This is bigger. It's about what we sense deep down—that we’re part of something much larger than ourselves.

I believe other life forms exist. Intelligent ones. Maybe more advanced than us, maybe more evolved, maybe more… aware. And if they are watching—quietly observing us from just beyond what we can see—I find myself asking: What are we showing them?

What are we teaching them about humanity?

If they’re studying our world, I imagine they see the breathtaking potential we hold. Our ability to love, to create, to heal, to build, to dream beyond the stars. But I also imagine they see our darker side—our greed, our violence, our obsession with power, our careless destruction of the planet that gives us life.

And maybe they wonder, How can a species be both so beautiful and so broken?

We like to think we’re the apex of intelligence, the pinnacle of evolution, but what if the way we treat each other—how we value or devalue life—is being recorded by beings who don’t speak our language but deeply understand our actions?

Are we showing them a planet worth visiting? Or a species that still hasn’t figured out how to live in peace?

I don’t think aliens—if they’re out there—are here to conquer or destroy us. If that was their intention, I doubt we’d be having this conversation. I think they’re curious. I think they’re watching. Maybe waiting. Perhaps for the day we evolve not just technologically, but emotionally. Spiritually. Ethically.

When I stood in Roswell and looked up at that enormous sky—wide, open, ancient—I didn’t feel alone. I felt small, yes, but also connected. Like a thread in a tapestry I can’t yet see the edges of.

So yes, I believe we are not alone. The universe is too vast, too full of stars and secrets, to think Earth is the only place life took hold.

Maybe the real question isn’t whether they exist.
Maybe the question is: What would we want them to learn about us?

And maybe, just maybe, believing we’re not alone might help us treat each other—and our planet—a little better.

Because someone, somewhere, might be watching.

And what if they’re hoping we become something truly worthy of contact?