I don’t actually hate people, even when it feels like I do sometimes.
What I “hate” are patterns of harm, cruelty, and domination — the ways systems distort people until they act against themselves and each other. When I pull back socially, or feel irritated, or overwhelmed, it’s rarely about individuals. For me, it’s about overload: too many signals, too much noise. Fear of being misunderstood. A lack of safety. A lack of reciprocity.
Growing up, what I felt most often wasn’t anger so much as frustration. Frustration at not being understood. At systems that didn’t make sense. At rules that felt arbitrary. At expectations that didn’t fit. Anger came later, if at all — and even then, it never stuck for long.
It’s still hard for me to stay mad in general. Even with all the trauma we collect over time. Even with anxiety, or whatever social friction becomes of me. Anger tends to burn off quickly and leave something else behind — usually empathy, curiosity, or at least a need to understand what went wrong.
And empathy isn’t weakness. It’s orientation. And I’m most oriented toward connection, coherence, and repair.
That doesn’t mean passivity. It doesn’t mean tolerating harm. And it doesn’t mean confusing nonviolence with submission. I believe in self-defense — personally and collectively — and in drawing clear boundaries where necessary. Nonviolence, to me, isn’t about pretending conflict doesn’t exist, but about refusing to let violence, domination, or cynicism become the organizing logic of how we relate to one another.
I’m also not interested in revenge. I understand the impulse, but revenge doesn’t repair anything. It hardens people, escalates harm, and locks everyone into the same logic that caused the damage in the first place. Accountability matters. Consequences matter. But I’m far more interested in restoration than punishment — in stopping harm, repairing what can be repaired, and preventing the same patterns from repeating.
So I don’t think people are the problem. I think systems that reward harm, extraction, and hierarchy are. Cynicism feels like a trap — understandable, but ultimately useful to the very structures that benefit from people giving up on each other. Systems-level anti-cynicism isn’t denial; it’s pattern recognition. It’s seeking alignment and fewer unnecessary fractures. It’s noticing that even in broken conditions, people keep reaching for care, cooperation, and meaning.
Despite everything going on, I don’t feel pessimistic or cynical about the world. I see potential everywhere — even when one day I won’t be around to see where it leads. Future generations matter. Long arcs matter. Systems change slowly, but they do change.
I have more reasons not to fear the world than to fear it.
Everything is inspiring, if you look closely enough. Even the broken parts. Especially the broken parts.
Because I see potential in everything.