Choosing Joy In A Time That Profits From Outrage
Lately I’ve noticed how hard it is to have an ordinary conversation. You start talking about your day and someone drops a headline that sounds like the end of the world. You scroll through social media and see post after post designed to make you angry or afraid. If all you bring into my life is doom and gloom, I’m not listening anymore.
That doesn’t mean I’m hiding from reality. Bad things happen every single day. Staying informed is important. Speaking up when injustice shows up in front of us is important. But there is a difference between being informed and letting every ounce of negativity set up camp in your head. Advocacy matters. Fear mongering does not. Those two things are not the same.
Image Credit: DALL-E
I grew up in a time when television shows were built around joy. Even serious dramas gave you a sense of hope at the end. Comedies filled the evenings and sitcom families felt like extended relatives. There was room to laugh, to relax, to feel good. Now our free time is dominated by feeds that tell you you’re never enough, strangers waiting in comment sections to tear apart anything you say, and an endless loop of idolizing politicians or influencers as if they are rockstars. We’ve traded entertainment for outrage, and it shows.
You can see the effects everywhere. Younger generations are angry, anxious, and exhausted. Scroll for five minutes and you will find someone pointing a finger, someone declaring the world unlivable, someone insisting that despair is the only rational response. And of course there are bad things happening. Of course we should know about them. But when every notification screams “panic,” we stop noticing the small, ordinary acts of kindness that make up the real majority of human life.
The truth is quieter than the noise: the planet didn’t get sucked into a black hole today. The sun still came up. Someone held the door for a stranger. A kid shared their snack with a friend. People volunteered, donated, cooked for neighbors, forgave each other, made art, and loved one another. There is more good in the world than bad. The bad is just louder.
Here’s what I’ve learned: the more joy you spread, the more joy spreads. Joy multiplies. It’s contagious in the best way. When you decide to show up with kindness, other people feel permission to do the same. When you choose to love your neighbor, you model something better than hate. When you give someone the benefit of the doubt, you create a ripple that reaches further than you’ll ever see.
Being the change isn’t about posting a perfect quote or pretending life is easy. It’s about daily choices. It’s about refusing to give a microphone to people who thrive on outrage. It’s about saying no when someone tries to dump their hate into your space. It’s about protecting your peace so you have the energy to actually help where it counts.
I am not saying don’t advocate. Things happen in our communities, our cities, and our world that demand action. We should advocate. We should vote. We should donate and volunteer and speak up when something is wrong. But advocacy cannot become our entire day and our entire life. We are not meant to live in permanent fight-or-flight mode. That isn’t activism; that is burnout. When every conversation starts with panic, we forget how to laugh, how to create, how to show our children that life can still be full of wonder.
Our kids are watching us. They are absorbing the way we talk to each other. They are learning from what we celebrate and from what we refuse to entertain. They need to see us find joy again. They need proof that the world is worth loving. They are the future. We are not. Period.
So what does choosing joy look like in a world that profits from outrage?
It can be small. A morning walk without headphones, noticing the sky. A real conversation with a neighbor instead of a quick wave. Sharing a meal with friends and leaving phones in another room. Reading a book just because it makes you happy. Supporting local artists or small businesses. Writing a thank-you note. Laughing at a silly show even if critics call it fluff.
It can be bigger, too. Starting a community garden. Mentoring a teenager. Creating art that celebrates what is good. Hosting a neighborhood cleanup and ending it with music and food. Organizing a donation drive with an attitude of hope instead of despair. There is no limit to how joy can manifest when we decide it matters.
Most of all it means guarding our attention. Social media algorithms are designed to amplify whatever keeps us scrolling, and anger is sticky. Outrage keeps people online longer than gratitude. The platforms know it and exploit it. That means we have to be intentional. Unfollow accounts that only post negativity. Set limits on how often you check the news. Curate your feed like you curate your home. If something doesn’t bring value or light, you don’t have to let it live in your pocket.
Choosing joy isn’t naive. It’s rebellious. It’s a refusal to let corporations, politicians, or angry strangers dictate how you feel about the world. It’s a decision to focus on what is beautiful and possible so you have the strength to keep building something better.
So today I’m reminding myself—and anyone who needs to hear it—that joy is not a luxury. It’s not something we save for weekends or for when things finally calm down. It’s a daily practice and a responsibility. The more joy we spread, the more joy spreads. And that is how real change begins.
Love your neighbor. Give people the benefit of the doubt. Say no to the ones who only want to spread hate. Stop giving them an ear. Stop giving them your time. Protect your peace so you can keep showing up for what truly matters.
Our children are counting on us to model a different way of living. They deserve a world where laughter is common, where kindness is expected, where hope is louder than fear. They are the future, and they are watching. Let’s give them something worth inheriting.
Choose joy. Live it. Share it. Watch it grow.
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