I’m secretly waiting for you to fail.
I will root and holler and stand by your side.
But truly, I don’t love myself enough to see you win and be happy.
All it does is show me that I can’t do it — or that I never tried.
Your success is a glaring example of my failure.
And so, I’ll watch. I’ll cheer. But in the end?
I want to see the fall more than I want to see the rise.
Folks, here we have our culture summed up in two words: sour grapes.
We fundamentally cannot celebrate good people
It’s not entirely our fault. We live in an individualistic culture that emphasizes looking out for yourself.
Every citizen is set against the next.
Collective success doesn’t translate to individual security. In fact, it often contradicts it.
Of course we secretly want others to fail. Our system instills the belief that our success depends on walking over someone else.
What even is a good person?
Years ago, I was in Nepal, being ferried across Lake Pokhara in the Himalayan foothills. Just me and the man rowing the boat.
I struck up a conversation, honestly not expecting much.
Within moments, he was beaming. Telling me about his wife, his children, his work.
He proudly stated, “All my kids are in school and the oldest is at university.”
He was glowing.
My Western mind couldn’t process it. He was poor. He had a menial job. No personal ambition beyond his family.
And yet — he was the happiest man I’d ever met.
Because his happiness wasn’t derived from selfish motives.
It came from service.
From others.
From the concept: surround yourself with good people and serve them well.
The psychology behind bad vibes
It’s easier to stay in a bad mood than a good one. Seriously — try being mad and then try being happy. Most people can stew in anger forever if they remember back far enough.
You just need a trigger. A headline. A bad memory.
One scroll too deep.
In psychology, that’s called affect. We all have levels of positive and negative affect. It represents how easily we return to baseline after life hits us.
The problem is, our media system doesn’t support positive affect. Fear, scarcity, division, power, greed, hate, sex, lies, deceit — that’s what sells. That’s what manipulates.
That’s what keeps people clicking.
So even if you’re a naturally positive person, it’s David vs. Goliath every day.
You’re not allowed to be happy.
Not for long, anyway.
But you ain’t got no legs, Lt. Dan
Gary Sinise does, though.
And he’s used them to build a foundation for veterans that has changed thousands of lives — custom homes, counseling, long-term support. He just sends it — no headlines needed.
Bubbah would be so proud.
Dolly Parton donated the royalties from Whitney Houston’s version of “I Will Always Love You” to uplift a Black neighborhood in Nashville — calling it: “the house that Whitney built.”
She’s also donated over 100 million books, provided medicine to communities, and still shows up like your small-town aunt doubling as the angel of Appalachia.
Jolene better watch out.
These two could’ve played the traditional fame game
Pay attention to me while my validation needs increase as my objective beauty decreases.
Instead, they built a new one. Quietly. Repeatedly. Without asking for flowers.
They’ve redefined celebrity so thoroughly they could run a network airing only positive content, 24/7.
But we wouldn’t watch. We can’t.
We need that lever of superiority. That voice that says, “Of course they’re doing good work — they have money, time, connections…”
I would too, right?
But they got to where they are by doing exactly that. This isn’t a post-fame PR game.
This is who they’ve been for decades.
Yeah but what about us normal folk?
Dale Schroeder was a modest carpenter from Iowa who never married and lived minimally.
When he died, it came out he’d quietly saved nearly $3 million. He used it to send 33 kids to college — kids he’d never met. They call themselves “Dale’s Kids.”
His life-savings made sure others got the chance he never did.
He didn’t live like the rich. He wasn’t famous. He just cared.
And that’s the part that breaks us.
Because deep down, we know we could do more. Not $3 million more.
But something.
So, we nitpick. We divide. Because if they’re doing good work, what are we doing?
It’s way easier to watch the Kardashians be awful human beings than watch good people do good things.
That’s safer.
We get to stay on top and never change.
Even the good people get torn apart
It’s why the comment section on TankGoodNews is often filled with hate. We can’t even accept good — we have to dissect it.
We have to take something that is whole and decent and turn it into a guessing game of intrusive thoughts.
That young adult at the skate park helping a kid learn a new trick? Heartwarming. Mom caught it on video.
But you know the comments: Where’s the helmet? Terrible parenting. That guy looks too old to be there. OMG who invited the fucking scooter kids?
We cannot hold onto something good without needing to quantify it — to compare it with other “good” things. We need to pull back every layer.
Deconstruct the moment until there’s nothing sacred left.
That’s us.
Surround yourself with good people
I mess up all the time.
Luckily, most people in my life recognize the effort — they don’t judge me by my worst mistakes.
That’s empathy.
Like the old line goes: don’t condemn someone until you’ve walked a mile in their shoes.
But just like the media hijacked our ability to stay happy, it cannibalized our empathy too.
We’re told a thousand things matter. We’re shoved into rigid identities and ideological corners.
Then that passion gets manipulated: it’s fuel on the fire of division.
We’re trained to have empathy for those like us — and not a drop for anyone else.
And here’s the kicker: it’s not like those concerns are fake.
Conservative ideals are under pressure. LGBTQ+ culture does need protection. Family values are eroding. The border is chaotic. Inflation is real. We’re still dropping bombs on people who don’t deserve it.
But I’ll say it out loud: I don’t think the world is permanently broken.
But keeping us convinced it is?
That’s the marketing funnel of doom.
It keeps us scared.
It keeps us distracted.
It keeps us consuming.
So why can’t we celebrate good people?
Part of it is our fault. Our insecurities, our projections, our wiring.
But it’s not all our fault.
It’s systemic.
Our emotions have been hijacked. They come second to quarterly earnings, lobbying efforts, and power grabs.
Positivity has been replaced with performative doom. And anyone who still cares? They’re exhausted.
We’re worrying about a million things we can’t control — and ignoring the few we can.
But here’s the thing:
We live in whatever world we fuel.
And if we want, that can be Dolly World.