Anyone else feeling heavy? Not the “I ate too many snacks during an ice storm†heavy. The other kind. The kind that settles on your shoulders and follows you from room to room, fueled by an alarming news cycle and a vague sense that everyone is holding their breath.
Lately, I’ve noticed that just about everyone I know is either angry, scared, exhausted, or pretending very hard not to be. Sometimes all four before lunch. Every news update feels like it’s written in ALL CAPS. A few group texts have gone silent. Even my cat — who normally responds to global events by licking herself — seems concerned.
Meanwhile, I keep trying to do normal things. Answer emails. Coordinate meetings. Fold laundry. Make dinner. Check on dad. I move through these ordinary tasks while a small voice in my head quietly whispers, “Are we OK?†While I can’t answer that question, I do know the emails still need to be answered. The laundry still needs to be folded. Dad still needs to find his remote control. And somehow that feels both ridiculous and comforting. Civilization may be wobbling, but the dishwasher still requires loading.
If the goal is calm, the news cycle is not helping. It feels less like information and more like standing in the middle of an intersection while headlines fly at you from every direction. Everyone is honking. No one is stopping. You’re just trying to cross the street with your dignity intact and maybe a reusable grocery bag.
What seems increasingly clear is that we all need places that feel safe. Spaces not weighed down by constant score-keeping or language designed to divide instead of connecting. The habit of sorting one another into tidy categories may simplify conversations, but it flattens the people inside them. Labels rarely make us wiser. Mostly, they make us louder.
It also helps to remember that many of the people we argue about most fiercely online will never know our names. They won’t sit on the bleachers at the same ballpark where our kids play. They won’t show up when life gets hard or bring a meal when everything falls apart. At best, they are a friend of a friend of a friend of a friend. The people right in front of us — the neighbors, the coworkers, the friends, the family members we love, are real. They deserve more care than any talking point ever will. And if your neighbors are scared right now, they need our understanding. They do not need us to tell them to stop being scared.
And here I am trying to write a humor column when nothing feels especially funny right now. Maybe that’s the humor. The quiet persistence of showing up. Of choosing softness when sharpness would be easier. Of folding laundry while the world feels upside down.
So let me end with this. If no one has told you lately, I love you. Not the sappy kind. The kind that exists between one human being to another. The kind that says, “I see you here.â€
Let’s keep choosing kindness. In a world that feels loud and chaotic, kindness is calm.
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