Category: communication

The Age of Performed Identity.

How much of our lives have we spent trying to be something—or someone—we’re not?  It is one thing to pursue growth, to refine our character, and to enrich our inner life, yet it is quite another to adopt a false identity for the sake of impressing others, whether for money, status, or the fleeting approval of strangers, family, and acquaintances.

Lately, it seems that the art of pretending has become a widespread habit, a kind of cultural contagion.  Over the past decade especially, I’ve watched this phenomenon snowball.  It has become easier and fiendishly tempting to put on a polished façade while abandoning genuineness, humility, and empathy.  Social media, with its curated illusions and endless opportunities for self‑promotion and keyboard commandos, has been the chief purveyor of these false faces.

And how easy it is.

In a world moving at swift speed, the pressure to perform seems to be ceaseless.  Some people feel compelled to reinvent themselves for every audience, to appear more educated, more virtuous, more high class, more enlightened than they truly are.  Some people, unfortunately, strain to become the moral authority in every conversation, to project wisdom they have not earned, and to cloak their insecurity in a thin veil of false humility.  Some people invent and re-invent their live story continuously.

It must be exhausting.  From my vantage point, watching someone puff himself up by preaching from an imaginary pulpit, presenting himself as all‑knowing while sprinkling in counterfeit modesty, or looking down their nose at others, is a disheartening sight.  There is nothing admirable in self‑inflation or pretend self-deflation.  It does not elevate a person; it exposes him.  False humility serves only the ego.  It leaves no room to serve God, despite all their claims of “thanking God everyday” for such-and-such.  It comes across Pharisee-like when you know their true history and that they are putting on a public show.

Putting on an act for selfish gain is, at its core, a fabrication of the truth.  Duplicity demands constant maintenance, and after a while, there is so much maintenance that fabrication becomes sloppier and sloppier.  One must remember every false detail with perfect precision just to keep the fiction intact, and that’s the hard labor one has to do for a hollow reward in the prison of their mind’s fantasy.

It is far better to remember that the one thing you can do better than anyone else is to be yourself.  Of course, one could make the argument that being phony for some people is “being themselves.  Yet there is less work and stress to admit one’s true self and not make up stories to impress an audience.  Or in one case, I have seen one person who has shared his childhood as first “middle class,” then defined it as “not quite middle class,” to the sad Dickensian tale of “being poor.”  Is that the “fake it until you make it” mantra at work, or the pretend “rags to riches” story?  I won’t bother to hazard a guess.  All I can say is I have little regard for counterfeits.

The world does not need more people parroting platitudes or mimicking the latest persona.  It needs more of the original, the sincere, the unvarnished.  Pretending to be someone else is not only dishonest because it is truly a quiet betrayal of your own dignity.

As we step into another day, we should do so with sober eyes and clear hearts.  Remember who you really are beneath the noise and the pressure, and do not compromise that reality.  Be honest, be considerate, and be grounded in your principles.  Respect yourself and extend that respect to others.

 

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The Poverty of Perpetual Anger.

There is a particular sadness in watching people who live in a constant state of anger, and I see this quite a lot in my neighborhood, and especially since 2020.  Their anger is not the righteous anger that rises to defend the vulnerable, but the chronic, simmering kind; the kind that becomes a personality, a worldview, a permanent narrowing of the soul.  Some of these people turn ugly and violent when they are cordially greeted by neighbors.  These are people who treat every encounter as a contest, every disagreement as a threat, every difference as a personal insult.  Perhaps they believe they are defending themselves, but in truth they are defending the walls that imprison them.

Anger becomes their only vocabulary.  They speak it fluently, instinctively, even proudly, and peppered heavily with vulgar and filthy words.  But beneath that lies a deep poverty of spirit.  A person who must always be angry and offensive is a person who has forgotten how to be free and kind.

The tragedy is not merely that they harm others—though they do.  The deeper tragedy is what they lose within themselves without realizing it.

  • They lose the ability to be surprised by goodness.
  • They lose the capacity for joy that comes from generosity.
  • They lose the peace that only humility can give.
  • They lose the richness of a larger world than their own reflection.

They trade all of this for the brittle satisfaction of being “right” and boorish, even when that “rightness” isolates them.  They probably do not realize that the fortress they build to keep others out is the same fortress that keeps them in.

My sadness for them is not schmaltzy.  It is not the soft sadness of pity.  It is the sharper sadness that comes from recognizing wasted possibility.  These are people who could be expansive, curious, generous, a positive addition to the neighborhood, but instead they choose the cramped rooms of anger and rejection.  They choose to live in a world too small for any soul.  It is as though they are possessed by demons.

A life fueled by anger cannot lead to peace.  A heart closed to others cannot experience love.  A mind that rejects difference cannot grow.  They may cling to their fury and their narrowness as if these things protect them, but in the end, they protect nothing.  They only ensure that the person holding them remains untouched by the very things that make life worth living.

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The Noise We Mistake for Knowledge.

 

We live in an age where information is abundant, but much of what passes for “news” today is not news at all.  It’s noise, and you know that.  It’s carefully packaged, endlessly repeated, and designed to keep us stupidly watching rather than sensibly thinking.  The problem is not merely the volume of what we consume, but the nature of it because much of what presents itself as “news” is, in truth, non‑news — content engineered to provoke reaction and emotion rather than understanding.  Discernment, then, becomes not a luxury but a moral necessity.  Headlines flash, opinions multiply, and yet very little of it has any bearing on our actual lives.  The result is a subtle erosion of time, attention, our brain cells, and inner peace, and if we bow down to the mindless blather, we allow others to steal our time.  Yes—steal our time and ultimately shapes our habits.

Non‑news thrives on immediacy.  It demands attention without earning it.  It offers the illusion of being informed while quietly draining the very faculties that make genuine understanding possible.  The result is a culture that is constantly stimulated yet rarely enlightened.  We scroll, we skim, we react, and at the end of it, we are no closer to truth.  The deeper danger of non‑news is not that it wastes minutes but that it shapes habits.  It trains us to expect superficiality, to prefer outrage over reflection, to treat every passing headline as a crisis.  A society that cannot tell the difference between the essential and the irrelevant becomes easy to manipulate and difficult to awaken.

True news informs and clarifies, and it should edify us.  It should help a person understand the world.  But this blather does the opposite: it distracts, inflames, and consumes hours that could have been spent on something productive.  It is astonishing how quickly a day can disappear into commentary, speculation, and manufactured outrage that leaves us no knowledgeable than before.

The danger is not merely wasted time; it’s also wasted focus and a counterfeit form of engagement.  When we allow trivial stories to occupy our minds, we lose the capacity to notice what genuinely matters: the people around us, the responsibilities entrusted to us, the quiet work that builds a meaningful life.  Non‑news thrives on urgency, but it produces nothing lasting.

Discernment asks a different question: Is this worthy of my time, my mind, my peace?  It is a refusal to let trivialities masquerade as significance.  It is the discipline of distinguishing between what is merely loud and what is actually important.  In a culture that profits from distraction, such clarity is countercultural.  Choosing to step away from it is not ignorance; it is discernment.  It is the decision to guard one’s attention as a precious resource rather than surrender it to whatever happens to be fashionably trending.  A person who refuses to be pulled into the churn of non‑news gains something rare in our age: clarity of mind and control of oneself.

When we decline to participate in the churn of non‑news, we reclaim our attention for what is real: the responsibilities before us, the people entrusted to us, the truths that do not change with the news cycle.  We become less reactive and more rooted.  Sure, the world will always offer distractions, but we are not obligated to accept them.  Our time is finite, and our attention is inviolable.  Spending it wisely is an act of both strength and sanity.

 

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The Decline of Language Originality.

Have you noticed that our language has gone stale?  Once vibrant words and phrases have been replaced by a handful of recycled expressions that people toss around as if cheap confetti.  We’ve become a culture of verbal shortcuts—catchphrases, memes, and pre-chewed reactions—leaving very little room for originality, nuance, or even basic thought.

So perhaps it’s time to retire a few of these linguistic relics and replace them with something more intelligent, more intentional, and frankly, more dignified.

Take cringe, for example.  This single word now is deployed as a universal dismissal, a way to avoid forming an actual opinion.  Instead of describing what makes us uncomfortable or why, we simply slap the “cringe” label on it and move on.  It’s the conversational equivalent of shrugging.

Then there’s the ever popular “What! What?”  That’s a phrase that pretends to express astonishment but usually signals nothing more than performative confusion.  It’s noise masquerading as reaction.

And of course, the internet’s favorite template:  Tell me you’re ____ without telling me you’re ____.  Perhaps it was a clever structure the first time it appeared, perhaps even the second time.  But now it’s a tired formula, a linguistic Mad Libs game that saves us from the burden of crafting an original thought.

“How cool is that?” has also run its course.  It’s a placeholder, a filler, a way to feign enthusiasm without committing to any real sentiment.  It’s a way for the older generation to be hip with the kids.  It’s the verbal equivalent of nodding politely while thinking about something else.

“The fourth be with you”—a absurd pun that has lived far, far beyond its natural lifespan and continues to resurface every May, as if repetition alone could make it clever again.

And finally, there’s IYKYK (“if you know, you know”).  Here’s a phrase that pretends to signal insider knowledge but usually functions as a way to avoid explaining anything.  It’s exclusivity without substance.

Here’s a list of my suggestions of clichés and phrases we need to retire post haste:

Glow Up

Gaslight

Today years old.

Narcissist / Narcissism

Tell me you’re ____ without telling me you’re ____.

Chilling (as in, “chilling details,” “chilling video,” et cetera)

W’s (or anything using “W” for the word “win.”)

May the fourth be with you.

Awesome / Amazing

Asking for a friend.

You (We) got this!

How cool is that?

Game changer

Wait!  What?

IYKYK

Literally

Cringe

Iconic

The “F” word

These expressions are simply worn out, dehydrated by overuse, leaving behind only the dry husk of what once felt fresh.  Language deserves better, and so do we.  Thoughtful speech invites thoughtful living.  When we choose words with care, we sharpen our minds, deepen our conversations, and reclaim a bit of originality in a world that keeps trying to flatten everything into sameness.

If we want richer conversations, we must start by choosing richer language.  Retiring these worn-out phrases isn’t about being pretentious; it’s about making room for clarity and genuine expression.  In a culture that thrives on shortcuts, choosing real words might just be the most radical act of all.

 

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Erosion of Thought and Thinking.

This past weekend came and went in a blur—swift, full, and satisfyingly productive.  I don’t think I had ten consecutive minutes of idleness, except during sleep, and truthfully, I relish weekends like that.  There is a certain peace that comes from purposeful accomplishments.

In one of my conversations over those busy days, a curious topic surfaced: the increasing need to remind people—again and again—about the simplest responsibilities.  A bill due.  An appointment scheduled, a task promised, or a basic, everyday obligation.  I remarked that in these present times, many people seem capable of focusing on only one thing, whether it be children, grandchildren, entertainment, work, or some other singular preoccupation.  Everything else, such as duties, commitments, even common courtesy, all fall by the wayside.

It has become difficult to hold a meaningful conversation with someone whose world has narrowed to a single point.  The most engaging and educated people, in my experience, are those who can move gracefully across topics, who can offer insight, curiosity, and a well-formed exchange of ideas.  But to enter into conversation only to discover that the other person can speak of nothing beyond their kids or chasing the almighty dollar, a meaningless sports statistic, or their favorite sports team quickly becomes futile.  Unfortunately, the dialogue collapses before it begins.

Alongside this narrowing of attention, there is also a rising tide of blatant selfishness, that inward curl of the human heart that makes genuine engagement even more difficult.  Many people have become so absorbed in their own preferences, comforts, and routines that they no longer consider how their choices affect others.  Commitments are treated casually, responsibilities are postponed indefinitely, and the smallest inconvenience is met with irritation rather than maturity.  It is as though people have allowed themselves to be trained to prioritize their own ease above all else.  This self‑preoccupation doesn’t merely strain relationships; it impoverishes the soul.  A life turned inward eventually collapses under its own smallness and vapid reality.

Something has shifted in recent years, revealing a kind of dullness and a thinning of interior life.  Perhaps it stems from weakened social skills, the isolating effects of social media, the aftershocks of the scamdemic years, a decline in religious grounding, or some combination of these.  Whatever the cause, the result is the same: many lives have grown small, distracted, and strangely brittle.  And in that narrowing, something essential and human seems to have been lost.

If anything, these observations should stir in us not frustration but a quiet resolve.  We cannot control the narrowing of other people’s worlds, but we can refuse to let our own shrink.  We can choose to cultivate curiosity, to read widely, to think deeply, to converse generously.  We can reclaim the art of attention—toward religion, toward others, toward the responsibilities entrusted to us.  Renewal begins not with grand gestures but with the simple decision to live awake in a culture that drifts toward distraction.  If we desire a richer, more meaningful world and personal life, we must first become richer, more meaningful people who are anchored, attentive, and alive to the fullness of life that really is intended for us.

 

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