The Rise of Narcissism: From Parody to Power

“The ends justify the means……..”“

– Niccolò Machiavelli

I recently listened to a podcast with a leading researcher on narcissism. Fascinating stuff. Ironically, I was already arranging a guest on the same topic — another noted researcher here in Canada, who also happens to be the mother of one of my daughter’s school friends.

In psychology, narcissism is part of the normal range of human personality. A measure of self-confidence and self-regard can be healthy, even essential. But when those traits become extreme, persistent, and disruptive to relationships or functioning, they turn maladaptive.

I remember talking with special operator Rich Diviney back on Episode 200 of my podcast when he had just published The Attributes. He explained that some narcissistic tendencies actually serve a purpose. They can bring confidence, belief, and commitment to a task, even when someone is operating beyond their direct experience. Sometimes, you have to act more capable than you feel to accomplish what you’ve never done before.

But climb higher up that spectrum, and things shift. Narcissism becomes an excessive preoccupation with self: inflated self-importance, an endless need for admiration, and difficulty valuing the feelings or needs of others.

The Clinical Picture

According to the DSM-5, Narcissistic Personality Disorder (NPD) is a pervasive pattern of grandiosity, need for admiration, and lack of empathy, starting in early adulthood and showing up across many areas of life.

Key features include:

• Grandiose sense of self-importance
• Fantasies of unlimited success, power, beauty, or ideal love
• Belief in being “special” and only associating with the elite
• Excessive need for admiration
• Entitlement
• Exploitative relationships
• Lack of empathy
• Envy of others or belief others envy them
• Arrogant, haughty behaviors

A clinical diagnosis requires at least five of these traits to be consistently present.

Why Talk About This Now?

Because over the last 15 years, narcissism hasn’t just become visible — it’s become celebrated.

Once upon a time, we laughed off these types. The “roosters” who strutted with self-congratulation were tolerated at parties but not admired as models. Maybe they even impressed us with their accomplishments, but they weren’t elevated. They were the exception, not the rule.

Now? It’s become acceptable to be the “donkey.” Trampling others, dismissing reputations, publicly deriding opponents — all excused if you “get results.” Make money, pass legislation, build something impressive, or even just convince people you’ve done those things — and suddenly the behavior is justified.

The ends justify the means. Right?

The sad truth: narcissism often wears a charming mask. These individuals can be magnetic, disarming, even inspiring — until they’ve extracted what they want. After that, you’re invisible. Stand up to them? That’s when the claws come out. Retribution isn’t a possibility, it’s a guarantee.

Machiavelli’s Shadow

Why has this become en vogue? Because it works — at least in the short term. Narcissism is intoxicating. It projects power. It attracts those who feel powerless.

It echoes Machiavelli’s The Prince, which advised rulers to appear virtuous while wielding cunning, pragmatism, and manipulation to hold power. Over centuries, “Machiavellian” became shorthand for a style of leadership where the outcome matters more than the morality of the means.

This isn’t new. What’s new is our willingness to applaud it.

We used to parody this behavior. Cartoons like South Park gave us Eric Cartman as a caricature of narcissism — grandiose, manipulative, exploitative, devoid of empathy. We laughed at the absurdity.

Now the parody has become reality.

What Now?

That’s the question. If narcissism and Machiavellian tactics are rewarded in culture, politics, and business, how do we respond? Do we keep celebrating charm without conscience? Or do we start calling it out for what it is?

Because if the parody becomes the truth, the joke’s on us.

Who Cares Wins

“Only one team is happy at the end of the year.“

– Mike Shanahan

I recently finished watching another season of The Quarterback on Netflix.

Why share this?

Because after two seasons following the journeys of five NFL quarterbacks (Kirk Cousins was featured in both), I was reminded yet again that success doesn’t happen by accident.

And more importantly—it’s not just about winning or stacking achievements. It’s about showing up, putting in the reps, and enjoying the process of growth.

What really struck me was how, inside these high-performance environments we so often admire, character is the real currency. The men who thrive are the ones who hold themselves to a higher standard—not just on the field, but in the way they treat people.

It was there in the way Joe Burrow could laugh and chat with referees, treating them with respect instead of disdain. It was in Kirk Cousins, coming home after learning he would no longer be the starting quarterback for the Falcons—an enormous blow for any veteran—and still finding the grace to play football with his young sons in the rec room. It was in Jared Goff, walking quietly through the woods with his wife, reflecting on what they’ve accomplished together.

You could see it in the way all of them showed genuine gratitude to their offensive linemen—not because it’s expected, but because they truly mean it. 

It was there when Cousins returned to Minnesota, embraced former teammates and coaches, and reconnected with old friends, even after a loss. Or when Marcus Mariota, deep in the uncertainty of a career transition, strolled along a beach with his wife and baby, stopping to talk with a few women passing by. Or watching Patrick Mahomes treat everyone—teammates, coaches, staff—with steady kindness and class.

Different men. Different styles of play. Different paths to the top. Joe Burrow didn’t even have a great arm in high school. Jared Goff was drafted by the Rams, traded to the Lions, and chose to make the best of it, helping build belief in a long-struggling franchise. Some are master passers, others great decision-makers, others phenomenal athletes. All of them have some mix of these skills—or they wouldn’t be starting quarterbacks in the NFL.

But the common thread? Character. How you carry yourself. How you treat your family. How you embrace your friends. You can be a warrior and a leader, fight for every yard, and still be kind. There’s no need to belittle, berate, or boast. Let your work do the talking, and your character do the walking.

I think about Jared Goff, walking up the tunnel after losing a home playoff game, giving a lineman a pat on the back and saying, “Appreciate you, man,” only to hear, “I’m so sorry” in return. Or that same Goff, holding his wife’s hand during their baby’s ultrasound, talking about fatherhood and the new purpose it would bring.

I think about Kirk Cousins recalling something Mike Shanahan told him in his rookie year: “Only one team is happy at the end of the year.” In a sport where only one quarterback gets to hoist the Lombardi Trophy, failure is far more common than ultimate victory. And yet, Cousins, Goff, and the rest keep showing up, learning, exploring what’s possible, and staying grateful for the opportunity to do what they love in front of the fans who love them.

That’s what this show left me with—success is imperfect, unpredictable, and often hard to measure. But if you keep your character intact, treat people with respect, and live in gratitude, you’ve already won.

So I’ll leave you with this: How are you staying true to a character of kindness and consideration?

Preparation, Opportunity, and the “Coincidence” Myth

“Luck is when preparation meets opportunity.“

– Oprah Winfrey

One theme that comes up over and over again when I interview high achievers on the podcast is how often major shifts in their careers and lives seem to happen by coincidence.

They’ll tell me stories about working away in their field, when one day they’re in a coffee shop line, at a networking event, or just running errands—and they strike up a casual conversation. That chat leads to a new connection, and that connection leads to a new opportunity.

The guest on this week’s episode is a perfect example. Her job at a hospital was being cut due to budget issues. She mentioned it to a friend while standing in line at a store. Moments later, that friend shared a lead—and just like that, a new role fell into her lap.

Coincidence?

If it happened only once or twice, maybe. But I hear variations of this story all the time. What’s even more interesting is how rarely my guests describe feeling panic or despair. Instead, they speak about these moments as natural redirections—doors opening exactly when they needed to.

Why does this happen?

I think it comes back to something I first heard Oprah Winfrey say: “Luck is when preparation meets opportunity.”

I love that line because it reminds us that “lucky breaks” aren’t random. They show up because we’ve done the work to be ready when the moment arrives.

That’s why I tell people I mentor that building and maintaining a strong circle of influence is essential. If no one knows who you are, what you do, or how well you do it, they can’t possibly think of you when the right opportunity comes along.

My first NHL job is a perfect example. It only happened because I had built a relationship with the head therapist of the Montreal Canadiens. When the Assistant GM of the New York Islanders mentioned they were looking for someone, that therapist spoke up—and my name was on the table. Without that connection, that entire chapter of my life never would have happened.

Here’s the thing: expanding your circle of influence isn’t about self-promotion—it’s about genuine connection. That means being curious, asking questions, listening well, and sharing just enough of yourself that people get a sense of who you are and how you think.

Too often these days, conversations feel one-sided. I’ve walked away from chats where I know a lot about the other person, but they know almost nothing about me. I make a point of weaving in short stories so they leave with a feel for who I am. Conversation is a two-way street, and you never know which one might open the door to something big.

And here’s an easy way to start nurturing your network: send a quick message to one person a day. Just one. Over a year, that’s 360 touchpoints. That’s 360 people who will remember you the next time an opportunity comes their way.

Because here’s the truth—people rarely get work simply because they left a résumé on a desk. Even if that gets them in the door, the decision usually comes down to who they know—or who knows them.

So the next time you catch yourself wondering why someone else got the call instead of you, remember: in the background of that opportunity was preparation, visibility, and connection.

Are you prepared?

Something to think about.

What’s the Point?

“I’d rather be a great father than a great golfer.”

– Scottie Scheffler

Another interesting and poignant sporting moment set the table for this week’s reflection.

If you’ve been reading my blog for a while, you know I’m not a believer in the never-ending chase for more—the pressure to get rich, be famous, or achieve some illusion of greatness.

This week, world number one golfer Scottie Scheffler reminded us why that path so often rings hollow.

“There’s a lot of people who arrive at number one and then say, What’s the point?
Why do I want to win this golf tournament so badly?
That’s something that I wrestle with every day.”

In a post-round press conference, Scheffler questioned the very nature of his pursuit.
He wasn’t cynical. He was honest.

“What’s the point? This is not a fulfilling life.
Even if I win, it’s going to be fulfilling for two minutes, and then we’re on to next week, talking about how important it is to win the FedEx Cup.
Does it fill all the deepest parts of my heart? Not…”

He even went as far as to say:

“If golf ever affected my life with my family, it would be the last day I ever golf again.”

So what can we take away from this?

Ironically, this clarity is exactly why he’s free to be the best golfer in the world.

He knows what matters.

He’s in love with the process, not the outcome.

“I love putting in the work. I love the practice. I love the challenge.”

And above all, he understands the true prize—his family.

“Golf isn’t the most important thing. I’d rather be a great father than a great golfer.”

In a world where power, influence, money, and fame flood every corner of our media, it’s deeply refreshing to see a top-tier athlete push back—not with arrogance or bravado, but with humility and grounded purpose.

Now, you could say it’s easier to feel that way when you’ve reached number one in the world and earned hundreds of millions of dollars. And yes, you’d have a point.

But that doesn’t make the pursuit of those things right or fulfilling.

The money doesn’t fill your heart.
The status doesn’t.
Nor does the fleeting moment of winning.

It’s all a mirage.

What does fill your heart is the love of the work itself—and the connection to those you love while in service to something greater than yourself.

Don’t you think so?

Character, Tradition, and Being Present

“The true test of a man’s character is what he does when no one is watching.”

– John Wooden

I found myself having a lot of conversations this week—unintentionally, but consistently—with different friends who work in human performance. And oddly enough, each one circled back to a common theme: character.

Then, over the weekend, I had the time (and privilege) to watch the Wimbledon Men’s Singles Final. Wimbledon has always been one of the most iconic and impressive sporting events on the calendar. Like the Masters in golf, it’s steeped in tradition, ceremony, and exquisite detail.

In a way, these events elevate the people who compete in them. They set a bar—not just for performance, but for behavior, temperament, and grace. To step inside that arena, you have to rise toward something greater.

This year’s final featured two of the best young players in the world: Jannik Sinner and Carlos Alcaraz. Both have ascended into the rarefied air once occupied by the Big Three—Federer, Nadal, and Djokovic. And the match didn’t disappoint.

Alcaraz brought his best, but Sinner, perhaps still carrying the sting of his French Open loss to Alcaraz, rose just a bit higher and claimed his first Wimbledon title.

What struck me most wasn’t the quality of play—it was the quality of character.

Alcaraz was gracious in defeat, praising Sinner and his team with sincerity. Sinner, in turn, spoke respectfully about their friendship and mutual admiration. It was beautiful to witness.

Tennis, I’ve always felt, is a sport that naturally cultivates this kind of character. Not always, but often, there’s an undercurrent of respect in the language, the interactions, and the rituals. Winning matters—but it’s not weaponized. There’s grace in both victory and defeat.

Wimbledon takes that energy and amplifies it. From the ballkids and groundskeepers to the chair umpires and royal box guests, everything is polished, intentional, and respectful. Some might call it pretentious—and yes, there’s a touch of that. But at its heart, there’s something deeper: a reverence for the sport, the process, and the people.

It’s in the details. The all-white attire. The strawberries and cream. The bow to tradition. You don’t just watch Wimbledon—you feel it. It’s a sensory experience. A celebration of presence, poise, and purpose.

And it makes me wonder:

Why does it work there?

And how can we bring more of that energy into our daily lives?

Not the pomp or pageantry—but the respect. The gratitude. The awareness. The small nods to those who’ve helped us. The humility in winning. The grace in losing.

I think too many of us coast through life unaware, distracted, and ungrateful. We forget to notice. We forget to feel. And when something like Wimbledon comes along and makes us feel, we realize how much we’ve been missing.

That’s the cost of not being present: we disconnect from our senses—and from meaning.

So maybe the takeaway is this:

How can you be more in tune with your senses?

How can you more consciously engage with your experiences?

How can you carry yourself with a bit more presence—and a bit more character?

Something to think about.

Be Here Now

“Yesterday is history, tomorrow is a mystery, but today is a gift. That is why it is called the present.”

– Eleanor Roosevelt

I was just lying on my back on the screened-in porch—my summertime sanctuary.

The sounds of the birds, the fresh air, the green everywhere, and a certain quietude—it’s the perfect space just to be.

I had just finished showering after hiking the mountain near where I live. It’s a solid 875 meters of vertical over about 4.5 km, and I usually take the gondola down. It’s part of my summer rhythm—almost weekly. A little less in the winter.

It’s a great workout, and today I followed it up with some neuro drills, a good stretch, and a blissful nap.

Why am I telling you this? It might sound like I’m bragging about my life. But that’s not my point.

This is about intention.

What I packed into today was driven by one thing: my daily intention to be physical, to move, to be outside in fresh air and sunlight as often as possible.

When I say intention, I don’t mean rigid goals or fixed expectations. Some days it’s a full mountain hike. Some days it’s just a 1 km walk to the mailbox and back. Both matter.

What matters most is that I’m present when I’m doing it.

I’m not checking boxes on a to-do list. I’m connecting to the experience. I’m hearing the birds, feeling my heartbeat, noticing my breath as it quickens and slows. I feel the challenge of the climb, the ease of a simple walk, the restfulness of lying on my porch.

And I let it all unfold as it needs to. I don’t force the hike if it’s not in me that day. That’s not giving up—that’s listening to what my body and mind actually need.

Today, I napped for 35 minutes. No set alarm. Just what my body required.

Then I lay there, just listening.

Last night, I was watching Stanley Tucci’s show where he travels across Italy tasting incredible food in every region. What struck me—besides how remarkably fit he looks for someone whose job is to eat—was how fully present he is in the experience.

That’s something Italians, as a culture, seem to understand deeply. Food isn’t just fuel—it’s about taste, tradition, plating, ambiance, and connection. It’s intentional. It’s social. It’s an experience.

There’s a beautiful flow to it—from the first glass of wine and small antipasti, to the rich flavours of the piatto principale, to the perfect wine pairing. And it’s savoured.

You can’t truly experience something if you’re not present.

We’re not present.

We rush. We multitask. We forget to feel.

We need to slow down.

We need to invest in our senses, our emotions, and our relationships.

We need to be here, now.

This isn’t whoo-whoo. It’s life.

It’s movement.

It’s connection.

It’s the experience.

Be here now……..

How will you remind yourself to be present?

Friendship Means Everything

“Some people go to priests; others to poetry; I to my friends.”

– Virginia Woolf

This past weekend, I attended a professional conference that brought together people with whom I don’t spend large amounts of time, but who have become good friends.

It made me reflect on how friendship expresses itself, what it truly means, and how it evolves and reinvents itself, especially these days.

When I grew up, friendship was forged in the fire of shared experiences—both the good and the bad—through middle school and high school. It was sports played, games won and lost, epic parties, and simple moments of boredom, often filled with stupidity and laughter.

Time and tension were the forges that shaped those bonds. Some of them, even decades later, feel exactly the same. I have friends from high school that I see every few years, and each time we reconnect, it’s as though no time has passed.

Every so often, I open my phone to 100+ back-and-forth messages from this gang of elders, debating the latest sports event or laughing about some crazy thing someone got up to.

After high school, university became the next fertile ground for friendship. Like most people, some lifelong relationships were formed during those years. It was different, though—not quite the everyday immersion of high school. Friendships formed around class schedules, projects, sports, and parties. If you lived in residence or shared a house, you might have recreated that high school fraternal vibe.

When these foundational life stages ended, work became the primary opportunity to build friendships, along with the pastimes you explored outside of work. But now, the time you spend with people is filled with purpose and agenda. It’s often compressed and challenging. The experiences you share in these spaces are different, but they can still yield incredible friendships and profound growth.

That said, life’s responsibilities and constructs slowly shrink the time we have to simply be together. Long, aimless periods are replaced by short, intentional moments where life is experienced in snapshots.

Caring for someone else feels more precarious, less tangible, and often fleeting. But through recurrence and intentionality, you begin to build trust. You know they know. You know they want to know.

And then, if you have children, friendships often blossom from your kids’ friendships with other parents. These relationships can feel a little less stable, because they’re rooted in your children’s connections. Still, the shared experience of parenting—the challenges, the wins, the mutual support—becomes a powerful glue. There’s a unique comfort in knowing someone else has your kid’s back, just as you have theirs. It’s a vital part of the community you build.

Over time, you realize that friendship thrives in these brief, intense moments of presence, not necessarily in permanence.

You also realize you have a responsibility: to reach out, to circle back, to be open.

In today’s world, where we’re all consumed by digital life, friendship is both harder and simpler to maintain. Sometimes, trying to “design” it feels forced, and you don’t get the same magic.

You have to trust that the relationships that matter will bubble up and return, not always as expected, but as understood. You have to believe in your friendships, even if the connections are brief, unplanned, and shaped by timing rather than deliberate action.

When you force it or when you expect something from it, you’ll likely end up disappointed.

If you attach too much meaning to the moments you interact—or the gaps when you don’t—you create stories about what others think or feel. And those stories often lead to letdowns.

Friendship doesn’t have rules of engagement.

Real friendship is knowing that when you come together—whenever and however that happens—you’ll feel connected, known, and understood, even if it’s fleeting.

It also means taking personal responsibility for being present. Feeling what your friend needs. Sometimes they need a listener. Sometimes they need advice. Sometimes they need a complex conversation. Sometimes they just need to hear your story.

This past weekend, I had all of that and more:

• Quick catch-ups
  
  
• Informed conversations
  
  
• Deep, meaningful interactions
  
  
• I listened to a friend’s story of surviving cancer
  
  
• I watched friends present their craft on stage
  
  
• I toured a friend’s impressive performance environment
  
  
• I laughed—big laughs, little laughs, the kind that come from deep inside
  
  
• There were brother and sister hugs, handshakes, and fist bumps
  
  
• I listened to stories, and I told some of my own
  
  
• I finally met in person some friends I’d only known on Zoom since the pandemic
  
  

Because I didn’t force it—because I just allowed it all to unfold—it was rich, beautiful, and it filled my heart and soul with the real food of life.

As I grow older, this is where I find peace, energy, and a deep sense of self—in the richness of friendship, with all its facets and fault lines. However imperfect, when you let friendship be what it is, you feel fulfilled.

So I ask you:

• How does friendship live within you?
  
  
• How does it serve your life?

Pride, Perspective, and the Seven Deadly Sins

“When we are no longer able to change a situation, we are challenged to change ourselves.”

– Viktor Frankl

This past week, I had one of those milestone moments as a parent, watching my 17-year-old daughter graduate from high school. The word proud rolled off my tongue without hesitation.

Of course, I’m proud. She’s my daughter, and she’s accomplished something meaningful.

But then, that familiar inner voice asked a curious question: Isn’t pride one of the seven deadly sins?

It made me pause. Should I feel proud? Or is there a more grounded emotion to embrace—like fulfillment, or maybe deep satisfaction?

That reflection sent me down a rabbit hole, revisiting the concept of the “seven deadly sins.” Not from a place of religious dogma, but as a cultural compass—a way to think about the ways we might lose our way if we let certain desires or behaviors become our goals rather than our obstacles.

I don’t consider myself religious or conservative, but I do see value in the warning these archetypes offer. When these seven become the pursuit—not the cautionary tale—they reveal our collective unraveling.

Look around.

Lust — Pornography is more accessible than ever, and many are quietly consumed by it. The same goes for our endless lust for wealth: we bet on anything and everything now, from fantasy sports to crypto memes.

Gluttony — The stats are staggering. In Canada, 35% of the population is overweight and nearly 30% is obese. In the U.S., that number climbs to 45%—more than 150 million people. Consumption, unchecked.

Pride — Social media has turned influence into currency. We chase likes, not love. Our self-worth is too often tethered to attention and applause.

Sloth — Everyone wants the shortcut, the overnight success, the viral moment. We reward the outcome, not the integrity behind it. Hustle is confused with value.

Wrath — Open your phone. Wrath is everywhere—on the news, in the comments, across your feed. Outrage is the new engagement metric.

Greed — It used to be about becoming a millionaire. Then a billionaire. Now we await the first trillionaire, while entire countries spiral into debt. There’s no ceiling to “more.”

Envy — And if we don’t have what they have, we judge. We compare. We resent. We weaponize our lack against those who seem to “have it all.”

We are drifting. Our compass has become external—calibrated by what others have, what they think, how they appear. The rudder is gone, and we’re tossed around by every new wave of wants.

But it doesn’t have to be this way.

We reclaim our direction by turning inward. By recognizing that our value doesn’t lie in what we achieve or accumulate, but in who we become—through growth, humility, and conscious creation.

The search for meaning isn’t out there.

It’s in here.

Look within. Find fulfillment in your path, not just your outcomes. And enjoy the beautiful, chaotic, imperfect spectacle of being human.

Community and Contribution Over Competition

“You must be the change you with to see in the world.“

– Mahatma Gandhi

If you’ve ever been to the Basque region of Spain, you might have heard of Mondragon. It’s not just a corporation—it’s an idea. Founded in 1956 by a Catholic priest named José María Arizmendiarrieta, Mondragon began as a small cooperative with a simple but radical premise: the workers would own the business. Not just figuratively—literally. The employees would make decisions collectively, share the profits equitably, and reinvest in their community.

Today, Mondragon is a network of over 260 companies with more than 80,000 worker-owners. It spans manufacturing, retail, finance, and education, generating billions in revenue each year. What’s remarkable isn’t just its scale—it’s the fact that Mondragon operates on principles that defy typical corporate logic. During economic downturns, instead of laying off workers, they reassign them to different roles or reduce hours collectively, sharing the burden rather than cutting people loose. Success is measured not just in profits, but in community stability and collective well-being.

Mondragon is proof that there is another way. A way where business serves people, not the other way around.

For so long, we have been fed the myth that competition is the ultimate driver of progress. That the sharpest elbows, the deepest pockets, and the most ruthless strategies are what win. But Mondragon turns that idea on its head. It shows that shared ownership and mutual responsibility can not only work, but thrive.

When you look at community-driven initiatives around the world, you begin to see a common thread: when people are aligned in purpose and collective contribution, something transformative happens. There’s less burnout, more innovation, and a deeper sense of fulfillment. People aren’t just cogs in a machine; they are stakeholders in a shared mission.

Even in the world of sports, this philosophy finds its place. The Green Bay Packers are the only publicly owned, non-profit professional sports team in the United States. Owned by its fans, the team doesn’t belong to a billionaire or a corporate conglomerate—it belongs to the people of Green Bay. And despite being located in one of the smallest markets in professional sports, the Packers have thrived, competing at the highest level, decade after decade. Their success is not just about football; it’s about community.

This is the shift that is beginning to take hold. A shift away from dominance and individual accumulation toward collective impact and shared success. It’s the recognition that true legacy isn’t built on what you extract from the world, but on what you contribute to it.

Imagine if the energy we spent competing to climb the ladder was redirected toward building the ladder stronger for everyone. Imagine if we weren’t just chasing our advancement, but actively supporting those alongside us.

It’s not just idealism—it’s pragmatic. Studies show that companies with higher levels of employee engagement and ownership outperform their competitors in almost every metric. Why? Because when people feel like they belong to something bigger than themselves, they show up differently. They care more. They innovate more. They give more.

Perhaps the next era of success is not about being the biggest fish in the pond, but about ensuring the pond thrives.

This is the power of community over competition. This is the beginning of contribution over accumulation. 

This is the new definition of winning.

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.