Musings Archives - Roger Hyttinen Author

Kindness Isn’t Complicated (We Just Keep Pretending It Is)

By Roger Hyttinen / November 17, 2025

Man pouring coffee in a cup for a homeless man — Volunteer giving drink to homeless man outdoors

You ever read a quote that just stops you for a second? Like—makes you want to stare out the window for a bit and re-evaluate humanity over your third cup of coffee? That’s how I felt when I ran across this one again:

“Our prime purpose in this life is to help others. And if you can’t help them, at least don’t hurt them.”
— The Dalai Lama

I mean… simple, right? Almost embarrassingly simple. Yet here we are, decades later, and it feels like the whole country missed the memo.

When Kindness Became Uncool

There’s this creeping sense lately that cruelty is trendy. Or maybe it’s profitable. I scroll through the news, social media, even comments on the most harmless cat videos, and I catch myself thinking, “When did we decide that meanness is a personality?”

In the U.S., especially right now, it’s like cruelty has become the national pastime. Some folks treat it like a sport—seeing who can say the nastiest thing with the biggest grin. Others monetize it. The louder the insult, the higher the ad revenue. It’s performative, almost theatrical. But here’s the kicker (no pun intended): cruelty isn’t just random anymore. It’s intentional. It’s strategic. It’s “cruelty for the sake of cruelty” or cruelty because it sells a book, a policy, or a pair of gold sneakers.

And yet the Dalai Lama’s words hit like a little whisper from the back row: “At least don’t hurt them.” Just… don’t.

The Radical Act of Not Being a Jerk

It shouldn’t feel revolutionary to not be cruel. But apparently, it is. Being kind, or even just decent, is starting to look like an act of rebellion. You ever smile at someone in public and they look startled—like you’ve broken an unspoken rule?

Sometimes it feels like we’ve forgotten that helping doesn’t have to be grand or dramatic. You don’t need to donate a kidney or solve world hunger before lunch. Holding the door open counts. Tipping your barista when you can. Not humiliating the cashier because the register froze again. These tiny choices add up in ways we never see.

I once heard someone say that kindness is a form of quiet resistance. I love that. Because it’s true. Every small, human act pushes back against this cultural tide of cruelty. It’s like tossing pebbles at a tank—tiny, maybe futile—but still defiant.

Cruelty as a Shortcut

What gets me is how easy cruelty is. It’s lazy. It’s the emotional equivalent of microwaving dinner in the plastic container. It takes zero imagination to insult someone or step on them to get ahead.

But helping? That takes effort. You have to pause. Think. Empathize. It’s slower, less flashy, doesn’t trend on social media. And that’s why so many skip it—they mistake compassion for weakness. But it’s the opposite. Being kind, especially when everyone else is sharpening their knives, takes guts.

The Everyday Test

I try (and often fail) to apply the Dalai Lama’s quote as a daily test. If I can’t help someone today, can I at least not make their day worse?

Sometimes that means not responding to the snarky post. Sometimes it means forgiving the driver who cuts me off. Sometimes it’s choosing not to unload my bad mood on someone else. Those small acts feel like pebbles, but honestly? They keep my soul from turning into sandpaper.

What Kindness Feels Like

There’s a certain sensory warmth to kindness. It’s like that deep exhale when someone surprises you with patience instead of judgment. You can feel it. There’s the relief of being seen, not attacked. The softening in your shoulders when someone gives you grace instead of grief.

When I think about helping others, I picture moments like that—the unseen exchanges that shift the temperature of the world by a single degree.

Why This Quote Still Matters

The Dalai Lama didn’t say “fix everyone” or “save the world.” He said help if you can—and if not, just don’t cause harm. I love that “just” in there. It’s so unassuming, like he’s saying, “Hey, start there.” It reminds me that even in a climate where cruelty seems to pay, we still get to choose how we move through the world.

We can either leave bruises or breadcrumbs. And honestly, I’d rather leave something that leads people somewhere gentler.

Anyway, that’s what’s been rattling around in my brain this week. Maybe it’s idealistic to think kindness could still make a dent—but I’d rather be idealistic than indifferent.

So yeah—help where you can. And when you can’t? Just… don’t hurt anyone. The world doesn’t need more bruises. It needs more soft landings.

Take care of yourselves out there. Be nice. It confuses people.

What happens when the heir to a kingdom is bound by the curse of the wolf? For Prince Norian, the answer comes with blood, fire, and the terrifying knowledge that dark magic has singled him out. As shadows close in, he must protect his people from an enemy who will stop at nothing to seize the throne. Danger, destiny, and deadly secrets entwine in Norian’s Gamble. Get your copy HERE

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Still Breathing, Still Busy – Thoughts on a Lauren Bacall Quote

By Roger Hyttinen / November 6, 2025

There’s this quote from Lauren Bacall that’s been stuck in my head lately:

“Here is a test to find out whether your mission in life is complete. If you’re alive, it isn’t.”

Leave it to Bacall—cool, smoky-voiced, effortlessly sharp—to drop a line that makes you feel both inspired and vaguely guilty for not having written a Pulitzer-winning novel before lunch.

But the more I sit with it, the more I think she’s right. Life’s “mission” isn’t this tidy checklist you complete before retiring to a hammock somewhere. It’s more like a constantly shifting to-do list scribbled in pencil, with new tasks popping up just when you think you’re done. You know that moment when you finish cleaning your kitchen, take a breath, and then notice the smudge on the fridge door? Yeah. That’s life.

The Illusion of “Done”

When I was younger, I thought adults eventually arrived. Like, one day you wake up, and your career’s on autopilot, your houseplants thrive, your taxes are prepped early, and your inner world hums with zen-like peace.

Spoiler: that day never comes.

There’s always another project, another dream, another half-finished notebook staring you down. At first, I found that depressing. I wanted completion, closure, the proverbial “ta-da!” moment. But Bacall’s quote reframes it beautifully—being unfinished means you’re still alive. The moment you’re done, well… you’re really done.

So maybe the chaos of it all—the half-painted room, the book draft that won’t end, the emails breeding like rabbits—isn’t failure. It’s evidence of living. The mess means motion.

Purpose Isn’t a Single Thing

People talk about “finding your purpose” as if it’s a single golden key you stumble across one morning while sipping coffee. I’ve tried that approach. I’ve made vision boards, journaled until my pen dried out, even asked tarot cards for a hint (the cards, by the way, are great at sass but vague on specifics).

What I’ve learned is that your mission shapeshifts. It might start as “write that book,” then morph into “help others tell their stories,” and later, “take a long walk without checking email.”

Each stage feels complete until it isn’t. And that’s fine. The mission evolves because you evolve. The Bacall quote isn’t scolding us for not being there yet—it’s giving us permission to keep growing, to reinvent, to try again.

The Pressure Trap

That said, I sometimes resent this “never done” thing. It feels like an endless homework assignment from the universe. The pressure to constantly be doing can get exhausting.

But there’s a difference between having a mission and constantly performing productivity. Bacall wasn’t saying, “If you’re alive, hustle harder.” She was saying, “If you’re alive, there’s still something that matters to you.”

It could be something small—watering your plants, feeding your cat, writing a love letter to future-you. Your mission doesn’t have to be grand or Instagram-worthy. It just has to matter.

The Quiet Missions

Sometimes the most meaningful missions are quiet ones.
Forgiving someone.
Letting go of an old version of yourself.
Learning to cook something that doesn’t involve microwaving.
For me, it’s writing stories that let people feel a little less alone in their weirdness. That’s not a capital-M “Mission” in the hero’s-journey sense, but it’s mine.

And on the days when I feel like I’ve lost the thread completely, I remember Bacall’s quote and think, “Well, I’m still breathing. Guess there’s more to do.”

A Gentle Reminder

If you’re reading this and feeling behind, like everyone else figured out their mission and you’re still fumbling around with the instructions—congratulations, you’re alive. You’re still in it.

That half-formed idea in your head? That’s part of your mission. That rest day you keep guilting yourself over? That’s part of it too. Every unfinished project, every detour, every new beginning—all of it counts.

Maybe “complete” isn’t the goal. Maybe the goal is to stay curious enough to keep going.

So yeah, your mission’s not done. Mine isn’t either. But honestly? I’m kind of okay with that. I like knowing there’s always another sentence to write, another story to tell, another version of myself waiting around the corner.

So here’s to being unfinished, gloriously and stubbornly alive.

Every kingdom has its enemies. For Tregaron, that enemy is Lord Vadok—a sorcerer with a taste for vengeance and a plan to topple King Jamros. But when the battle turns personal, Prince Norian discovers that the price of survival is far higher than he imagined. Cursed by a werewolf’s bite, he must learn to master the beast within before it destroys everything he loves. Norian’s Gamble: Get it HERE

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The Early Bird, The Second Mouse, and Me

By Roger Hyttinen / October 31, 2025

You know that saying, “The early bird gets the worm, but the second mouse gets the cheese”? Every time I hear it, my brain does a weird little double-take. Like, yes, of course—be early, be eager, be ahead of the pack. But also… don’t rush in so fast you end up pancaked under the mousetrap. There’s a balance here, and honestly, I kind of love that this one quote captures both hustle culture and anti-hustle wisdom in one tidy package.

Team Early Bird

Let’s talk about the worm half first. The early bird types are the people who get up at five a.m., journal about their intentions, run ten miles, drink a green smoothie, and then post about it on Instagram before I’ve even had my coffee. These are the folks who seem to always snag the best seats at concerts, preorder books before anyone else knows they exist, and have their tax returns filed by January 5th.

And I get it—being early often does pay off. My bookstore days taught me that. We’d get a box of newly released books, and whoever grabbed the bestseller first got bragging rights. (Yes, booksellers totally do this. “I called dibs on the first signed copy of the new Harry Potter!”) Being first sometimes means you get the shiny thing before it’s picked over, and that can feel like a victory.

But… worms? I’m not that into worms.

Team Second Mouse

Now, the cheese. This is where I mentally raise my hand. Because I’ve been the early mouse before—the one so eager to jump into something that I didn’t notice the obvious trap. I once launched a little online shop for my writing without double-checking the shipping fees. Turns out, mailing a single paperback to Europe cost more than the book itself. I learned the hard way. Had I waited a little longer, I could have watched someone else hit that trap first and figured out a better system (I did later, but it took me awhile).

That’s the charm of being the second mouse. You get to observe, wait a beat, see where the danger is, and then swoop in and enjoy the rewards. Honestly, some of the best things in my life happened not because I was first, but because I paused, let someone else test the waters, and then slid in when it was safer.

Like Netflix. Remember when it first launched streaming and the internet speeds were terrible? Movies would freeze mid-scene, pixelate, or buffer for ten minutes. I waited until streaming actually worked before diving in, and wow, my patience paid off.

Where I Land

Honestly, I think I’m somewhere in the middle. I like to think I’ve got a foot in each camp. There are moments when I’ll rush in like the bird—usually when it comes to buying tickets for a concert by a band I love.

But most of the time? I’m totally fine being the second mouse. There’s something comforting about letting other people test the mousetraps of life. You watch, you learn, you move carefully, and then you grab your cheese without getting whacked.

Why This Quote Sticks With Me

I think what I like most is that it acknowledges two truths at once. Sometimes, being first is brilliant. Sometimes, it’s reckless. And sometimes, waiting is wise. It’s basically saying: there isn’t just one way to “win.” Success can look like eagerness or patience, action or observation.

And maybe that’s the real lesson: know when to be the bird and when to be the mouse. Don’t force yourself into one role all the time. Life’s a mix of worms and cheese.

So, tell me: are you more of an early bird or a second mouse? Personally, I’m holding out for a saying about a third animal—maybe the lazy cat who gets fed without doing either.

Sixteen-year-old Nick thought his biggest problem was a book report. Then came the tingling skin, the eerie stomach lurches… and the realization he can see ghosts. When the dead start whispering his name, Nick’s “typical teen phase” becomes anything but. Grab your copy HERE

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Deciding Not to Stay Put

By Roger Hyttinen / October 30, 2025

There’s a quote by J.P. Morgan that’s been running laps in my head lately:

“The first step towards getting somewhere is to decide that you are not going to stay where you are.”

On the surface, it sounds so obvious. But then I think about all the times I’ve known I wanted something different yet stayed exactly where I was. Why? Because staying put is easy. It’s safe. It doesn’t require packing up boxes, rewriting résumés, or admitting to myself that I might have wasted time in a less-than-great situation.

The Allure of Staying Comfortable

I once lived in this tiny apartment that I despised. I’m talking paper-thin walls (I could literally tell when my neighbor was watching Wheel of Fortune), a shower that trickled like a leaky faucet, and a heater that seemed to have only two settings: inferno or tundra. But I stayed there for years.

Why? Because moving was intimidating. Calling moving companies, hunting for new apartments, dealing with deposits—it all felt overwhelming. So instead, I told myself, “Eh, this is fine. It’s not that bad.” But here’s the secret truth: when you let yourself settle in one area of life, it starts bleeding into other areas too. The longer I told myself the apartment was fine, the easier it was to tell myself, “this job is fine,” or “this project can wait,” or “this relationship doesn’t really need to change.”

That kind of complacency is sneaky. You don’t even notice it until you look up and realize you’ve been treading water for years.

The Power of a Decision

That’s why J.P. Morgan’s quote hit me like a splash of cold water. Nothing changes until you decide it’s going to change. You don’t need the roadmap yet. You don’t need to know every step in the journey. You just need that moment of clarity where you say:

“I’m not going to stay here anymore.”

And that decision? That’s the hardest part. It’s like breaking up with your old self. The self that was okay with mediocrity, with delay, with endless “maybe laters.” Once you cut ties with that version of yourself, things start to shift in ways you couldn’t imagine before.

Momentum Feeds on Movement

Here’s something wild I’ve noticed: once you make the decision to move forward, doors start opening that you didn’t even know existed.

For example, when I finally decided to move out of that dreaded apartment, the perfect place seemed to “magically” appear in my price range. When I decided to finally self-publish my first novel, I suddenly found myself meeting other indie authors, stumbling into resources, and finding readers who’d been looking for exactly the kind of stories I wanted to write.

Was it magic? Not really. It was momentum. My focus shifted. My energy shifted. Instead of scanning for reasons to stay, I started scanning for opportunities to go. And wouldn’t you know it—opportunities were everywhere.

Asking the Tough Questions

Writing this post made me sit back and think about where I’m guilty of staying put right now. The honest answer? A few places. There are projects I keep circling around without fully committing. There are routines I know aren’t working for me anymore. There are even a couple of relationships in my life that feel more like dead plants than thriving gardens.

And that’s the scary but freeing part about Morgan’s quote: once you admit to yourself that you _don’t want to stay here,_the excuses lose their power.

Start Small, But Start

You don’t have to overhaul your whole life in a day. Change doesn’t need to be dramatic to be effective. Sometimes the most powerful decision is a small one.

Maybe it’s deciding you’re going to write one page of that novel you’ve been putting off. Or deciding that you won’t spend another Sunday night dreading Monday morning—so you update your résumé. Or even something tiny, like unsubscribing from emails you never read (trust me, the mental clarity from a clean inbox is underrated).

Each little decision builds your “I’m not staying here” muscle. And before you know it, you’re stronger than you realized.

Stuck = Undecided

Here’s the reframe that really hit me: feeling “stuck” doesn’t actually mean you’re stuck. It just means you haven’t decided yet.

The moment you decide—really decide—that you’re not going to stay put anymore, you’re already halfway out the door. You’ve chosen movement over inertia. And that, my friends, is the real first step toward “somewhere.”

So if you’re reading this and something in your gut is whispering that you’ve overstayed your welcome in your own life, maybe this is your sign. Maybe this is your J.P. Morgan moment.

Because “somewhere” won’t come find you. You’ve got to decide to go looking for it.

Until next time—here’s to the power of deciding not to stay where we are.

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Are Ghosts Just a Glitch in the Matrix? My Late-Night Obsession with Time Slips & Residual Hauntings

By Roger Hyttinen / October 28, 2025

You know how sometimes you go online for something completely innocent—like, say, looking up a recipe for banana bread—and suddenly it’s 3 a.m. and you’re reading about people vanishing into thin air on a rural road in 1972? That was me these past two weeks. I somehow stumbled across these message boards devoted to “Glitches in the Matrix,” and oh boy, my curiosity has been hijacked ever since.

I’m not talking about the movie The Matrix (though, yes, I did rewatch it last weekend—purely for research, of course). These forums are filled with people swapping stories about bizarre coincidences, déjà vu moments that last too long, and encounters with “impossible” situations. Think: a man swears his apartment door used to be on the opposite side of the hallway. A woman runs into her childhood dog who supposedly died years ago—except this dog was very much alive, and wearing the same collar. And then there’s the big one: people claiming they literally stepped out of time for a moment.

Now, being the internet, I take all this with a grain of salt. Some of these tales are so wild you can practically hear the X-Files theme playing in the background. But here’s the thing—whether or not they’re true, they’re fascinating. They got under my skin enough that I started poking around in old books, academic articles, and (let’s be honest) way too many YouTube videos about quantum physics narrated by people with soothing British accents.

And that’s when the thought hit me: what if ghosts—the classic “person in Victorian dress walks through a wall” type of ghosts—are just another kind of glitch?

Ghosts as Echoes in a Badly Rendered Program

One theory in paranormal circles (I’ve apparently joined them now) is called residual haunting. It’s basically the idea that certain events, especially emotionally intense ones, can “record” themselves onto a place, like a psychic VHS tape. You don’t interact with these ghosts; they don’t acknowledge you. They’re just… playing on a loop. The famous “Brown Lady” at Raynham Hall? The spectral soldiers at Gettysburg? These are the classic examples.

But think about it in Matrix terms. What if those “recordings” are more like a program glitching? The code hiccups and for a second, you’re seeing old data that’s not supposed to be there anymore—like an outdated texture popping up in a video game. It’s not an actual Victorian woman, but a flicker of reality-as-it-was bleeding into reality-as-it-is.

That also ties into the idea of time slips, which I find even creepier. People report suddenly being in a different era—walking down a street and everything looks old-fashioned, everyone’s dressed like it’s 1905, and then poof, they’re back in modern times. Are they experiencing a mini wormhole? A misfire in the universe’s rendering engine? Or is it our perception playing tricks on us?

My Inner Skeptic vs. My Inner Mulder

Part of me thinks, “Okay, Roger, slow your roll. The world is weird but not that weird.” Our brains are ridiculously good at pattern-matching and filling in gaps. If you’re tired, stressed, or primed to see something spooky, you’re going to notice things you wouldn’t normally notice—or misremember them entirely.

But another part of me—the part that still remembers reading The Butterfly Effect tie-ins as a teen and loving every creepy Twilight Zone episode—can’t help but hope there’s something genuinely strange out there. Not necessarily ghosts rattling chains in attics, but something weirder and bigger about how time and memory work.

Could residual hauntings be some kind of environmental memory we haven’t figured out yet? Could time slips be a glimpse of another layer of reality? Or (my current favorite idea) could the “ghost” phenomenon simply be the universe’s equivalent of a software bug, where past events “lag” for a moment before fading completely?

Why This Thought Won’t Leave Me Alone

I think part of the appeal of this “glitch” theory is that it makes ghosts less about death and more about time. It’s not a person stuck on Earth, sad and unfinished—it’s the world hiccuping, letting you peek at an old version of itself for a split second. Weirdly enough, that feels less scary to me. More like catching a behind-the-scenes blooper reel than running into an actual restless spirit.

Of course, all of this is just speculation on my part. But I’ll tell you what—it makes me look at those classic ghost stories differently. The lady in white at the end of the lane? Maybe she’s not haunting you. Maybe you’re haunting her timeline.

Anyway, my coffee’s gone cold while writing this, which is probably a sign I should step away from the forums for a bit. (Who am I kidding—I’ll be back tonight reading about people who swear they’ve met alternate versions of themselves.)

What do you think? Are ghosts really spirits, or are they just cosmic coding errors flickering through our perception? Either way, the stories are a lot more fun than doomscrolling the news.

Buying a fixer-upper is always risky, but for Marek and Randy, the risk isn’t just financial. Their new Michigan farmhouse comes with no hot running water, endless repairs… and a resident ghost. Marek can’t ignore the young man who appears in fleeting visions, dressed in old-fashioned clothes and radiating sorrow. While Randy struggles with his new job and their strained romance, Marek is pulled deeper into the farmhouse’s past—a past that demands to be remembered. A Touch of Cedar is about the things that haunt us: broken trust, lost love, and tragedies that refuse to stay silent.

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I Wish I Still Believed Everyone Could Change

By Roger Hyttinen / October 27, 2025

I almost never discuss politics on this blog. I usually try to keep my posts entertaining and informative—something you can read with your morning coffee without feeling like you’ve just stepped into a shouting match on cable news. But there comes a point when you can’t stay quiet. There comes a time when you have to speak up. To say something.

I know some people will disagree with me, and that’s fine. You do you. But with the recent decline in our society, I just can’t keep writing as though nothing horrific is happening in the U.S. today. I promise we’ll return to our usual programming soon. For now, though, I need to get this out.

What I believed

I used to carry around this almost childlike faith that everyone was inherently good. That if someone was cruel, it was just a matter of time before they softened, that empathy and patience could melt even the iciest heart.

That belief made the world feel less threatening, less jagged. But I don’t believe it anymore. And I hate that I don’t.

The Personal Cracks in the Foundation

On a personal level, the shift started quietly. I watched people I cared about repeat the same harmful choices, no matter how many chances they got. Apologies flowed, but the actions never changed. And I finally had to admit: some people don’t want to change. Some people thrive on their cruelty—it’s not a mask, it’s their way of operating.

That was hard enough to swallow in my own little corner of life. But then I looked at the bigger picture—what’s happening in our country right now—and the truth hit even harder.

Cruelty in Plain Sight

Look around. Politicians don’t even bother hiding the meanness anymore. They wear it like a badge of honor.

Take the Republicans in Congress who are dead set on slashing Social Security and Medicare—lifelines for seniors and disabled folks—while shoveling tax breaks to billionaires who will never feel hunger pangs or skip a prescription because of cost.

Or Governor Greg Abbott in Texas, who has spent years pouring energy into making life miserable for LGBTQ+ kids and their families, even directing state agencies to investigate parents for child abuse if they support their trans children. That’s not about “protecting families.” That’s cruelty as policy.

Or look at Florida under Ron DeSantis—book bans in schools, the “Don’t Say Gay” law that literally erases queer kids and teachers, stripping away Black history from curriculums. That’s not ignorance. That’s deliberate.

And then there’s Donald Trump, who isn’t just one man but the leader of a movement built on scapegoating immigrants, demonizing the press, and pushing policies that punch down on the most vulnerable while handing the rich even more.

These aren’t isolated slips of judgment. These are repeated choices. And no amount of patience is going to suddenly flip the switch and turn those choices into kindness.

Why “They’ll Change” Is Dangerous

For years, we kept saying, “They’ll come around. Give it time. They’ll see the harm they’re doing.” But meanwhile, what happened? Housing became a luxury. Healthcare turned into a privilege. College costs skyrocketed. Climate change denial stalled real action while the planet burns.

Believing “everyone will change eventually” let us keep excusing and normalizing cruelty. And while we waited, the damage multiplied.

The Hard Truth

I’ve had to face it: some people will never change, because cruelty benefits them. It keeps them powerful, keeps them rich, keeps them in control. And they’re not giving that up.

That’s not a comfortable truth for someone who once believed kindness was contagious. But comfort doesn’t protect anyone. Honesty does.

Where I Stand Now

These days, I’ve shifted. I still believe in kindness—but I don’t waste it on those who weaponize it. I pay attention to actions, not lip service.

And while I can’t cling to the fantasy that everyone is redeemable, I do believe in the people who keep choosing to care. The ones who fight for healthcare access, who defend queer kids, who push back against policies that steal from the poor to give to the rich. That’s where hope lives now.

A Harder, Truer Kind of Hope

I wish I still believed everyone could change. I really do. But maybe the sturdier belief is this: change only comes from those who are willing to do the work.

And in a time when cruelty is being baked into laws and policies, the rest of us can’t afford to wait for hearts to magically soften. We have to create kindness ourselves, in our neighborhoods, in our votes, in our daily actions.

That’s not as comforting as the old belief. But it feels real. And right now, real is what we need.

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Dehumanization is the First Step—Don’t Take It

By Roger Hyttinen / October 9, 2025

When You Start Treating People Like People

This post is a bit more serious than my other stuff. But it’s something that’s been on my mind a lot recently so I thought I’d share it.

There’s this Paul Vitale quote that I keep circling back to: “When you start treating people like people, they become people.” It’s one of those deceptively simple lines that hits like a sucker punch the longer you sit with it. At first glance, it’s almost obvious—like, of course people are people. But what he’s really getting at is how easily we forget that basic truth when it’s inconvenient, scary, or politically useful to strip others of their humanity.

The Danger of “The Other”

You don’t have to look very far these days to see how governments and media shape entire narratives around who counts as “us” and who gets shoved into the bucket of “them.” Immigrants, refugees, protesters, queer folks, religious minorities, people living in poverty—so often, whole communities are painted as threats rather than neighbors.

And it’s not just a political thing. It’s psychological. When people are labeled as “the other,” our brains almost trick us into thinking they’re less deserving of compassion. Dehumanization makes it easier to pass cruel laws, justify wars, or scroll past a headline about suffering without pausing. It’s easier to hate an abstraction than it is to look someone in the eye.

But here’s the kicker: when you strip away those labels and meet someone as a person—when you listen to their story, share a meal, laugh at the same dumb joke—suddenly, the distance collapses. They stop being “an issue” or “a problem to solve” and start being, well… human.

Why This Matters More Than Ever

We’re living in an era where outrage sells and fear gets votes. The language of dehumanization is everywhere, baked into slogans and soundbites: “invasions,” “illegals,” “thugs,” “vermin.” When we absorb that language uncritically, it seeps into how we see each other. And once someone’s humanity is blurred out, almost anything can be justified against them.

History is littered with examples of where that road leads, and it’s not a road we should be walking again. Whether it’s Nazi propaganda in the 1930s, segregation in the Jim Crow South, or more recent atrocities around the world, the pattern is eerily consistent: step one is convincing people that certain groups aren’t really people at all.

That’s why Vitale’s quote feels so urgent right now. Treating people like people isn’t just good manners—it’s survival-level important for a just society.

What It Looks Like in Practice

So what does it mean to treat people like people? Honestly, it doesn’t always require huge, dramatic acts. It’s in the small, daily choices:

Language matters. Catch yourself before repeating dehumanizing terms. Say “people without homes” instead of “the homeless,” “immigrants” instead of “illegals.” Words shape how we think.
Listen instead of labeling. That guy at work with political views that make your blood boil? Ask him how he came to those beliefs instead of shutting him down. (Hard, I know. My blood pressure spikes just writing this.)
Notice the individual. The cashier, the bus driver, the stranger on the park bench—they all have full, messy, complicated lives you’ll never fully know. A smile, a “thanks,” or a moment of genuine attention honors that.
Refuse the easy narrative. Governments and pundits benefit from us buying into “us vs. them” stories. Resist that by seeking nuance, context, and actual human voices.

A Personal Note

I’ll be real with you—I haven’t always been good at this. There’ve been times when I’ve written people off based on stereotypes, or dismissed entire groups because it was easier than wrestling with the discomfort of complexity. It’s humbling to admit that, but I think most of us have been there.

The difference comes when you pause long enough to actually see someone. I remember meeting a man years ago who had just arrived in the U.S. as a refugee. I had all these vague, media-fed notions about “refugees” as a category. But then he told me about the mango trees he missed from home, about how he worried whether his kids would like American breakfast cereal, and about his hope of starting a small landscaping business. Suddenly, he wasn’t a headline—he was just a dad trying to make a life. And that changed me.

People Become People

Vitale’s quote reminds me that humanity isn’t something we grant to others. It’s already there. But how we treat someone determines whether we see it—or erase it.

And that’s the quiet revolution, isn’t it? Choosing—every day, in a thousand little ways—to treat people like people. Not enemies. Not statistics. Not faceless issues. People.

Because once we do, the world looks less like a battlefield of “us vs. them” and more like what it’s always been: a messy, diverse, fragile, and beautiful collection of human beings trying to make it through the day.

Dehumanization is the First Step—Don’t Take It Read Post »