It’s easy to believe in good when things are calm.
When the sun is out, and the world feels orderly, and people are kind just because.
But what about when it’s not?
What about when the world feels like it’s unraveling, fast, loudly, and without apology?
What about when justice feels like a fairytale, and cruelty is streamed live?
What about when justice feels out of reach, and grief is the background noise of the day?
What about when every scroll, every story, every statistic makes your chest tighter and your hope smaller?

Do our better angels still speak when the world screams?

We want to help.
We want to be useful, righteous, tireless.
We want to show up in big ways with answers, with action, with the kind of strength that feels cinematic.
But often, we don’t have that kind of strength.
Often, we have a full inbox, a heavy heart, a moment of joy we’re scared to fully enjoy.
And then comes the guilt.
How can I be happy when the world is suffering?
How can I sit in the sun while someone else can’t breathe?

The truth is, believing in good—still believing in good—isn’t soft. It’s not foolish or fragile.
It’s grit.
Its teeth clenched and hands steady. It’s choosing to plant something kind in the ground while everything around you is burning.

You’re allowed to feel joy and grief at the same time.
You’re allowed to laugh while the world hurts.
That doesn’t mean you’re ignoring the pain. It means you’re human.
And being human is not a betrayal of the cause. It is the cause.

Because goodness is not a passive state.
It’s active. Intentional.
It is work.

Kindness in the face of cynicism is revolution.
Mercy in the face of vengeance is defiance.
And justice? Real justice?
It doesn’t scream the loudest, but it never forgets.

We are not untouched by the ugliness of the world.
But we do not have to mirror it.

We live in a world that demands everything:
Be informed. Be outraged. Be productive. Be selfless. Be grateful. Be better.
And somehow, still, be okay.
We can be tired, and angry, and heartbroken and still choose not to let those things hollow us out.

We’re not going to save the world alone.
We’re not even going to save it all at once.

We are not immune to rage, but we are not defined by it either.
Somewhere inside us, even in the chaos, is a whisper:
Hold the line. Stay soft. Keep building. Speak truth. Love better.

That voice? That’s our better angels.
And if you can still hear them?
If you can still act on them. Even in small, ordinary ways?
Then the world hasn’t completely lost its mind.
And neither have you.