AMUCK, AMUCK, AMUCK

A Reflection on Kindness in a Cranky World

These days, most of my problems can be solved with a square of chocolate and a few puppy-dog kisses. So yeah—life is good. I’ve simplified where I can, cut back on screen time, and started protecting my peace with a fierceness that might rival a momma bear. I don’t watch the news unless it’s playing in a patient’s room or I catch a snippet while scrolling. Social media? Limited. Reality TV? Absolutely not. Because honestly, all I have to do is step through the doors at work and suddenly I’m on a live-action mashup of Survivor, Big Brother, and maybe a little Duck Dynasty. And come July, when the fresh crop of first-year residents arrives? Well, then we’re throwing in some The Bachelor too. That’s the short version of why I’ve opted out of reality television—I get enough drama in real life

 But even as I joke, I can’t help but notice that something deeper is running amuck. It’s not just me—people are crankier, shorter-fused, more on edge. The patience reservoir seems bone dry, and the stress levels? Through the roof. While our political climate certainly doesn’t help, this shift isn’t just about politics. Friends of mine, regardless of where they stand on the spectrum, often throw up their hands and say, “We’re going to hell in a handbasket.” And while that might be a touch dramatic, it’s hard to deny that the national mood has turned sour. 

   Politics aside, what’s been weighing on me is the overwhelming spread of hate and division. It’s settling over our country like a damp, cold winter chill that no fire or favorite sweater can warm. I’ve always considered myself to have a fairly tough skin, but even I’m offended. My moral compass isn’t exactly delicate—when it comes to adults, I’m crusty; when it comes to animals, I’m fierce; and when it comes to kids and the elderly, I go full Old Testament. And yet, lately, I find myself shaken by the sheer meanness people are willing to dish out.

   The anonymity of the internet has emboldened some to behave in ways that are unrecognizable. People I once thought I knew now sound like strangers when they post online. Their words, typed out with fingers pounding keyboards in rage, are filled with venom. I imagine them shouting, faces red, spitting and sputtering as they rant into the void, prioritizing their angry replies over quality time with family or their own peace of mind. These are the same people I once had deep, even difficult conversations with—conversations about religion, abortion, capital punishment. And we managed those discussions with mutual respect, curiosity, and kindness. In person, heart to heart, there was space for dialogue. Now, that space is crowded with noise and nastiness.

   Recently, I found myself in a heated conversation with my 23-year-old nephew, Kris. Our ideological differences were front and center, and I couldn’t understand how he couldn’t understand. And then, mid-debate, he said something that stopped me cold: “I love you.” Just like that. No theatrics, no conditions. And he meant it. Despite our disagreement, his actions and words consistently reflect love. And that moment reminded me—louder than any argument—that love really can outshout ideology.

   So, if you’re feeling like the world’s gone off the rails, if chocolate and puppy kisses aren’t cutting it, if the news feels like a constant scream and your social feeds are a battlefield—maybe it’s time to pause and reassess. We’ve grown too comfortable with reacting instead of responding. Knee-jerk over thoughtful. Ugly over respectful. Loud and accusatory over confident and kind. We can resist, protest, call out injustice, and still keep our humanity intact. I’ll never “unfriend” someone simply for having a different belief. But I will distance myself from those who perpetually dwell in cruelty.

    Don’t get me wrong—I’m no saint. I’ve got a temper and a tongue sharp enough to slice steel. I yell in traffic, mock the ridiculous, and my eye-rolls are practically seismic. And still, I believe—deeply, stubbornly—in kindness. I believe in hugs. In smiling at strangers. In holding the door. In paying for the coffee behind me in line. In feeding the hungry. In standing up for the underdog even if my voice cracks or my knees shake. Because while it’s true that “shit rolls downhill,” I’ll do everything I can to slow that roll. And if I go down trying, I’ll do it with the righteous fury and volume of a howler monkey—which, by the way, is the third loudest animal on Earth.

   Let’s be real—there won’t be a reality show about random acts of kindness. The ratings wouldn’t survive in today’s culture of spectacle. People seem to prefer the chaos of Honey Boo Boo or the trainwreck that is Love After Lockup. But maybe, just maybe, we should be asking why that is. Why isn’t kindness compelling enough to watch? Why does compassion bore us? Maybe it’s because real goodness is quiet. It doesn’t shout or perform. It whispers. It stands at your side. It shows up, day after day, even when the cameras are off.

   If you’re tired, if the world feels heavy, if the noise is too much—step back. Take a breath. Pet a dog. Eat a piece of chocolate. Call someone who makes you laugh. And when you feel that familiar rise of anger, ask yourself if there’s a better way to say what you mean. A more human way. A braver way. Because in the end, being kind is brave. Being open is radical. Being decent in a world that profits off our division is downright revolutionary.

   Maybe we can’t change the world overnight. But we can slow the descent. We can be the fire that warms the cold. The sweater that comforts. The chocolate that soothes. And the puppy kiss that heals. One small, quiet act at a time.