Mindset
A Shift in Perspective
“Some men see things as they are and say, Why? I dream things that never were and say, Why not?“
– George Bernard Shaw (adopted by Bobby Kennedy)
I recently stopped watching the news.
Cold turkey.
Okay, I still glance now and then—just to make sure the world hasn’t completely spun off its axis—but I’ve made a deliberate choice to avoid the constant barrage of disaster narratives pushed by both traditional and non-traditional media.
Why?
Because while there are certainly important social shifts underway, real crises unfolding, and plenty of people doing nasty things, it’s always been like this. It just feels worse now because we’re perpetually plugged in. Our devices have become a portal to an endless stream of chaos, convincing us that everything is on the verge of collapse.
But when I go outside, breathe the air, and look around, life seems… pretty much the same.
Of course, I’m fortunate. I don’t live in a war zone. I’m not surrounded by revolution or famine. My perspective is inevitably shaped by the relative safety of my environment. But still, even when I zoom out, this moment in time feels less like an anomaly and more like a familiar rhythm in the song of human history.
I was reminded of this recently while watching a powerful docuseries on Netflix about the turning point of the Vietnam War. As a bit of a history geek, I find these retrospectives grounding. They offer perspective—often the very thing we lose when we’re caught in the whirlwind of the present.
This particular series took me back to 1968. I was only five years old at the time, completely unaware of the social and political turbulence unfolding around me. My parents were busy building a life for our family, and I was growing up, relatively untouched by the chaos. But in hindsight, 1968 was one of the most volatile years in modern American history.
That year began with a dramatic escalation in the Vietnam War. The Tet Offensive—a surprise attack by the Viet Cong and North Vietnamese forces—shook the American public to its core. The U.S. Embassy and the city of Saigon were breached during what was supposed to be a holiday ceasefire. Until then, many Americans believed they were winning the war. Tet shattered that illusion.
At the same time, President Lyndon Johnson was struggling to maintain control. He had inherited the presidency after the assassination of John F. Kennedy, along with the growing entanglement in Vietnam. Though he had championed landmark domestic reforms—most notably in civil rights—he couldn’t escape the shadow of the war. When Bobby Kennedy announced his candidacy to challenge him for the Democratic nomination, it was seen as an unprecedented act. A younger brother running against the man who had taken the reins after his sibling’s murder? It was almost unthinkable.
But Johnson saw the writing on the wall. He knew he couldn’t win. His popularity had cratered. And so, in a historic moment, he announced he would not seek re-election.
Bobby Kennedy, meanwhile, became a beacon of hope. To many Americans, he represented a rekindling of the ideals that had died with his brother—a sense of moral leadership, idealism, and integrity (though the full truth of the Kennedy legacy would grow more complicated in time). He was viewed as royalty, and his rising momentum gave people something to believe in.
And then, in April, Martin Luther King Jr. was assassinated.
One of the most powerful voices for justice and nonviolent resistance was taken in an instant. The grief and rage that followed exploded across the country. Cities burned. Tensions boiled over. Hope, for many, felt like it was slipping away.
Just two months later, Bobby Kennedy, having just won the California Primary and positioning himself as the likely next president, was also assassinated. Another dream, extinguished. Another crack in the foundations of belief in American institutions. People were losing faith—not just in politicians, but in the system itself.
Amid all this upheaval, somehow, the United States still found a way to send astronauts into space. The Apollo 8 mission orbited the moon, giving the world one of the most iconic images in human history—Earth, fragile and blue, floating alone in the void. But even this incredible achievement was met with skepticism. With civil unrest at home and a costly war abroad, many questioned whether space exploration was worth the expense. Government debt was rising, and the moon became another symbol of national tension.
The presidential election that followed was bitter and chaotic. The Democratic Convention in Chicago was marred by riots and violent clashes. Richard Nixon, a Republican, won the presidency on a promise to end the war—only to deepen American involvement. And as we know, that administration would soon take the country into an even deeper spiral of institutional mistrust.
All of this happened in a single year. 1968.
And yet… life continued. People worked. Families grew. Kids played. Amid all the uncertainty and grief, people still found ways to love, to live, to hope.
That’s what history teaches us. It doesn’t minimize the pain or complexity of the moment we’re in—but it reminds us that we’ve lived through turmoil before. What feels apocalyptic in real time often becomes just another chapter in the ongoing story of being human.
Sometimes, all we need is a shift in perspective.
So if the world feels overwhelming, and the headlines start to sound like the end of everything—step back. Breathe. Remember where we’ve been.
We’ve been here before.
And we’re still here.
Try that on for size. You might just find it calming.
