I don’t know, man.

The world is getting more fucked up as it is. And I’m not going to pretend sitting here, like I have some grand answer for that. I don’t. Nobody does, I think. The people who say they do? Usually the ones making it worse.

I’ve been thinking about this though. What “doing good” actually means when everything feels like it’s falling apart. You scroll your phone, every headline sounds like a countdown to something bad. The noise is so much louder than anything real. The whole system feels designed to keep you anxious, distracted, small.

And I keep coming back to the same place.

I think it’s not some big, heroic thing.

It’s not building a movement. It’s not going viral with the right message at the right time. It’s not saving the world in some dramatic, Marvel cinematic kind of way.

It’s quieter than that.

I think the most important thing we can do is protect our family. Our kids. Not shelter them from everything. Not hide them from how messy it all is. But prepare them. Give them what they need so when the world comes at them hard, and it will, they don’t fall apart. They stand.

I want my kids to be decent people. Sounds basic, right? But it’s not. Not in a time where decency is a luxury. Not when the world rewards being loud over being real, outrage over actually understanding anything, shortcuts over doing things right. Raising someone decent in all this? That’s resistance. Real resistance.

I want them to be smart. Not just school smart or street smart. Wise. The kind of smart that knows when to talk and when to shut up and listen. That can deal with things being complicated without needing everything to be certain right away.

I want them to be composed. The world’s going to test them. People will push their buttons. Systems will frustrate the hell out of them. But the ones who hold steady without losing who they are? Those are the people who actually change things. Not the loudest person. The steady one.

I want them strong. Not the fake kind that pretends nothing hurts. That’s bullshit we feed boys especially, and it destroys them. I mean the kind of strong where you break, and then you come back. You fall, you get up. You don’t make a whole personality out of either one. You just do it. Over and over and over.

I want them to have empathy. Real empathy. The kind that actually sees people. That can sit with someone else’s pain without trying to fix it, without making it about themselves. Understanding everyone’s dealing with shit you can’t see. That the world is hard for all of us, just in different ways. 

Empathy keeps us human when everything’s trying to turn us into algorithms. Into reactions. Into tribes, groups, segments. It’s what lets you disagree with someone and still see them as a person. It stops you from turning into the thing you hate.

Here’s what I keep coming back to.

Maybe that’s all we can do.

Maybe that’s enough.

Because when I look at the state of things, the political mess, the economic anxiety, the wars, the algorithms feeding us rage every morning. I can’t fix any of that. Not really. Not in any way that matters at scale.

But I can raise people who are better than what this world is trying to turn them into.

I’m far from them most of the time now. Different city. Different timezone. Most nights I’m not there.

But when I get home, when I’m with them, I’m all in. I sit with my kids at dinner and actually ask about their day. Not going through the motions. Actually asking. Actually listening. I let them see what it looks like when a man says he doesn’t know something. When he admits he was wrong and it’s not the end of the world. When he picks patience over reacting. Being kind over being right.

Distance doesn’t let me off the hook. If anything, it makes the time count more. They need to see it, not just hear me talk about it. Watch how I handle things when they don’t go my way. How I treat people when nobody important is looking. How I deal with failing at stuff.

I can’t raise them just by being around. I have to raise them by being present. And when I’m there, I’m there.

It’s not small. Because it has ripples.

We all have been shown that doing good has to be big. That it has to be visible, scalable, shareable. We’ve been sold this version of impact that looks like TED talks and viral campaigns and million-dollar foundations. That stuff matters, sure. I’m not saying it doesn’t.

But most of the real good I’ve seen? Done by people who got zero credit. Parents who just showed up. Teachers who stayed late. Friends who called when it mattered. People who held the line when it would’ve been easier to walk away.

The world doesn’t celebrate that. But the world is built on it.

So, yeah. I don’t have a manifesto. I don’t have a five-step plan to fix everything. I’m not even right some of the time.

What I’ve got is this.

Show up for your people. Raise kids who are decent, smart, composed, strong enough to stand when everything’s coming at them. Be someone they can look at and think, “Okay, that’s how you do it. Not perfect. But real.”

That’s what we can do.

And I’m starting to believe that’s not a compromise. It’s not settling for less because the big problems are too big.

It’s the actual answer.

The world changes one dinner table at a time. One real conversation at a time. One kid who grows up knowing that strength isn’t about dominance, it’s about presence.

I don’t have this figured out. I’m still learning.

But I know this much. In a world this fucked up, raising good humans isn’t the second prize.

It’s everything. It’s the whole game.