I think I’ve given up on humanity a little.
Not on people. On humanity. On all the bullshit we’ve built around being human.
Because the older I get, the more I think there are really only two kinds of people: good people, and wounded people who have made peace with hurting others.
And when I say good people, I don’t mean saints. I don’t mean people who never fuck up. Good people can hurt you. They can be selfish, scared, defensive, messy. They can take far too long to realize they were wrong.
The difference is that somewhere inside them, something bothers them.
Their soul doesn’t let them live comfortably inside the lie forever.
Then there are people who can justify almost anything. They rewrite the story until they are innocent. They find a reason why what they did was necessary, deserved, someone else’s fault. They create entire narratives just so they never have to meet themselves honestly.
Maybe some of them eventually do. I hope they do.
Because underneath race, religion, politics, status, borders, money, identity and every other structure human beings created, there’s still just a person and whatever they carry inside them.
And darkness has a way of revealing it.
When life is comfortable, almost everyone can look decent.
Watch people when things get hard.
That’s when the soul shows up.
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