Fuck the World… But I Still Choose Kindness
There’s a point in life where you think you’ve seen enough of the world to understand it. You’ve raised children, held families together, worked hard, paid your dues, and believed—maybe quietly, maybe stubbornly—that people are, at their core, decent. That even when things get hard, we find our way back to kindness. And yet here I am. Angry. Not a passing frustration or a fleeting irritation, but a deep, bone-tired anger that sits heavy in my chest. Because this is not how the world is supposed to be. Somewhere along the way, it feels like things have tipped. Conversations have turned into arguments. Differences have turned into divisions. And truth… well, truth feels harder and harder to find. I wake up in the morning and there’s this strange pull—half dread, half compulsion—to turn on the news. To see what’s happened overnight. What’s been said. What’s been done. And too often, it feels like the people who should know better—the ones trusted to lead, to protect, to think beyond...