The World Is Our Family—It’s Time to Do Better

Divisiveness is the elephant in the room. Only this elephant isn’t silently lurking in the corner; it’s sprawled out, taking up more and more space while we all argue about how it got there. Whose fault is it? How do we get unstuck? We’re so busy shouting over each other that the elephant just leans back, spreads itself wider, and makes life harder.

Relationships feel strained, even everyday conversations feel heavier.

Progress feels like trudging uphill with broken shoes. If it sounds familiar, it’s because we’re all living it—this odd, messy mix of dysfunction, frustration, and gridlock. It’s there in society, but also closer to home. It’s in the way old arguments bubble up at family dinners. The way certain grudges persist from the past. The way we circle around the same disputes without coming any closer to resolution.

Right now, the world feels like one massive family stuck in a car on a too-long road trip. No one agrees on the destination, everyone’s complaining, and no one wants to be the first to crack open the map and sort it out.

But here’s the thing about families—they carry on anyway. Sure, there are shouting matches and silence-filled stretches, but most find a way to keep moving. They adapt, they compromise, and, in their own time, they heal. Not perfectly. Not quickly. But they heal. Maybe—just maybe—that could be true for the world too.

I’m not saying we need to hold hands and sing "Kumbayah". That’s not how it works. Disagreement isn’t the enemy here. Families argue. They have heated debates over whose turn it is to do the dishes or why Aunt Carol made that comment at the last reunion. But those arguments don’t always have to morph into full-blown wars. It doesn’t mean severing ties the moment things get hard.

What if we approached the world the same way? What if we gave people—even the ones we don’t particularly get along with—the benefit of the doubt? Instead of assuming malice every time someone disagrees with us, what if we started with curiosity? That doesn’t mean swallowing our frustrations or pretending everything’s fine when it’s not. But maybe it means asking questions first instead of jumping straight into battle mode.

It’s funny how the people closest to us get this unspoken grace that strangers don’t. You can fight with your sibling over politics or who left the milk out, but at the end of the day, you know they want good things for you. Maybe that same kind of grace could extend past the dinner table to neighbours, to colleagues, even—dare I say it—to the person behind that infuriating Twitter post.

And then there’s this strange way we think about life, as if it’s one giant pie. Every slice is carefully watched, jealously guarded. The fear is so simple, but so toxic—if someone else gets more, that must mean we get less. It’s flawed logic, but it sneaks in everywhere. More opportunity for someone else doesn’t mean the pie’s gone. Success and progress aren’t finite. The table has room for everyone. Sometimes families learn this truth the hard way, but when they do, it’s a game changer. No more hoarding. No more silent tally-keeping. They realize there’s enough—in fact, there’s more than enough—for everyone.

I think about this when I look at the way society often works. It’s so easy to focus on the critics—those who sit on the sidelines, pointing fingers and assigning blame. That echo chamber of outrage is seductive, isn’t it? Complaining takes nothing. No effort. No investment.

But building? That takes guts. That takes people who are willing to roll up their sleeves and try. Even if it’s imperfect. Even if it’s messy. Because at least it’s better than the endless chorus of “this is all their fault.”

Sometimes, I catch myself wondering about this on a larger scale, about the way we see each other not as individuals, but as governments or policies or stereotypes. So many generalizations for complex, nuanced people. It’s absurd when you think about it. Because when you meet anyone, really meet them, it’s so obvious that we’re all just people. People trying to figure it out. People worrying about their kids, their jobs, their health, and three-day-old leftovers in the fridge. People wondering if they’re doing it all wrong, wondering where they fit in, and wishing someone had the answers.

This is where I keep coming back to family. Because families? They’re never simple. They’re messy and chaotic and frustrating as hell. But they’re also this really beautiful example of how differences can coexist. Nobody’s trying to mold everyone into an identical copy. Sure, Uncle Gary might have some wild opinions about the best way to grill chicken, and your cousin might insist on talking about cryptocurrency at every family gathering, but somehow, it works. Not flawlessly, but enough.

There’s this line we’ve all heard—“diversity is our strength.” It gets thrown around so much it almost loses meaning, but sit with it for a minute. Different ways of seeing the world, different experiences, different beliefs—that’s where the magic happens. That’s where growth lives.

Big changes feel daunting, I know. Global problems aren’t going to be fixed overnight. That’s not how this works. But maybe we don’t need to fix everything today. Maybe it starts with small, quiet choices. Choosing kindness over snark, empathy over anger, connection over division.

Families usually manage to keep it together, not because they’re conflict-free, but because at the end of the day, they remember they’re bound by something bigger. They anchor themselves to the idea that “we’re in this together.” Maybe the world could use a bit more of that. Not as a grand, idealistic sweeping fix, but as a simple start. Sometimes, a simple start is all we need.