So profoundly moving.
— Molly
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Apologies for the two-post day, but if I'm honest, I have to admit, it's a lot right now.
It’s not that hard.
I’m not asking you to be a saint. I’m not asking you to be perfect. To be sinless. To be the light of the world. I’m not asking you to be an ideal. A myth. An idol. Some shimmering moral paragon carved out of marble. I’m not asking you to take a vow of silence, or sell your possessions, or love your enemies like a brother. Let’s be realistic.
Fuck, I’m not even asking you to stop thinking mean things.
I’m not asking you to scrub every hateful impulse out of your brain.
To never screw up.
To always do the right thing.
To never feel the hot flash of rage or the cold thrill of judgment.
All I’m asking is that you pause. Breathe. Just for a second. The space of a single heartbeat.
Before you act—before you post, before you lash out, before you share the meme or say the line or hit send— ask yourself one simple question:
What harm will this do?
That’s it.
Not: "What do I feel justified in doing?"
Not: "Who started it?"
Not: "But what about their side?"
Not: "Will this get me likes?"
Not: "Will this prove I’m on the Right Team?"
Not: "Do they deserve it?" (Spoiler: We all think everyone else deserves it.)
Just: What harm will this do?
Does this add heat or light?
Does this heal a wound, or infect it?
Because I genuinely believe that most of us think we’re good people. And we believe our friends are good people. Kind. Ethical. Empathetic. We look in the mirror and see someone decent. We curate our avatars. We polish our halos.
But the only real wisdom I’ve earned in this life—and it’s not much—is the knowledge that I’m not.
I am not inherently kind. I am not naturally patient. I am not instinctively fair.
I am mean. Petty. Tribal. Vengeful. Jealous. Small. Cruel.
I have laughed at things that should have made me weep.
I have felt a sick little spike of joy when "the enemy" stumbled.
I have prioritized my own comfort over someone else’s survival.
And yes—I am racist, tribal, sexist, chauvinistic, egotistical.
Just like everyone else.
Not because I want to be. Not because I believe those things in my heart.
But because I was raised in the same poisoned world you were.
Because I have a reptilian brain stem that wants to eat or kill everything in its path.
Because the algorithm is designed to frack my worst instincts for engagement.
The rot lives in all of us.
The danger isn’t just the rot.
The danger is pretending the rot isn’t there.
The danger is believing your own press release.
Because when you believe you are "One of the Good Ones," you give yourself permission to do terrible things in the name of righteousness.
You convince yourself that your cruelty is actually justice.
I know it’s there. And I fight it. Every day. Sometimes every hour.
That’s the work.
Civilization isn’t a natural state; it’s a constant act of repression.
Kindness isn’t a default setting; it’s a discipline.
The work is not pretending you’re better. Not claiming moral high ground.
The work is being aware enough to notice the ugliness rising— to feel the adrenaline of the dunk, the seduction of the takedown— and strong enough to not feed it.
That’s what I’m proud of.
Not that I’m “better.”
But that I can pause.
That I can name the hateful thing in me and say:
“I see you. But not today.”
That I can resist the primitive urge to strike back.
To escalate.
To wound because I’m wounded.
To hate because it feels easier than healing.
(Though let’s be real—calling it “primitive” is unfair to animals. Humans are the only species I know that kills for revenge. We are the only species that builds factories for our malice.)
So no—I’m not asking you to be perfect.
I’m just asking you to be the circuit breaker.
The firebreak.
Be the end of the cycle.
Not the accelerant.
Don’t pour more gasoline on the fire and call it justice.
Don’t wrap your worst instincts in righteousness and call it truth.
Don’t let hate become your default, just because hate feels strong.
Control yourself.
That’s all.
It's the only thing we actually have control over.
Pause.
Breathe.
Expand the space between the impulse and the act.
Ask: “What harm will this do?”
And then—even if it hurts, even if it feels unsatisfying, even if it means swallowing your pride— choose something else.
The world doesn’t need more rage right now. We are drowning in rage.
We have enough fire to burn it all down ten times over.
The world needs a few more people willing to not add to the pile.
It needs a few more people willing to absorb the blow and not pass it on.
It’s not that hard.
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