Why We Must Do Better—For Ourselves, and Those Who Come After Us
There is a growing sense of unease I’ve come to feel more and more acutely—not just personally, but in the way society moves, speaks, and acts. It’s hard to name at first, but it’s everywhere: the coldness in public spaces, the selfishness on the road, the absence of smiles in the checkout line. It reminds me of the “fin de siècle” mood France once knew—a sense of decline, a loss of shared direction. But in our case, it’s not just cultural fatigue; it’s a moral erosion.
We live in a time where convenience trumps compassion. Where speed and efficiency have become excuses for rudeness. Where the number of followers somehow replaces actual human connection. When did we stop caring?
In the mornings, I drive my children to school. I see drivers refusing to follow the basic zipper rule, speeding ahead to force their way in. It slows everyone down—but more than that, it shows a lack of mutual respect. It’s a small thing. But it’s the small things that build a culture.
In another small thing, I let people with just a few items go ahead of me at the supermarket. My kids ask why. “Because it’s the right thing to do,” I say. Not for recognition. Not for thanks. Just to be decent. They’re learning. At first, they found it odd. Now, they’re proud of their good manners—because adults around them notice, and kindness, it turns out, still has power.
When I was a child, our heroes weren’t influencers or luxury YouTubers. They were flawed but noble—Son Goku, Superman, even Optimus Prime. They fought for justice, defended the weak, and always did what was right, even when it was hard. They taught us something. Are we still teaching those values today?
It is no longer enough to say “please” and “thank you.” Those are the basics. The deeper values—giving second chances, being present for someone who is struggling, helping without expecting something in return—these are what truly define a person. These are the values that build a legacy.
It won’t be the number of cars in your garage or the square meters of your house that people will remember. It will be the warmth of your presence. The respect you gave. The moments you chose kindness when it wasn’t convenient.
The world has always had its share of selfishness, yes. But we must actively resist letting it become the norm. We must remember that character is built not in comfort, but in choice. And the simplest choices often reveal who we are.
So when your children ask why you let someone go ahead in the queue, or why you shake hands and look people in the eyes—tell them it’s because it matters. Tell them it’s because you hope that when you’re no longer here, people will remember you fondly, not because you were successful, but because you were kind.
And in the end, maybe that’s all that really counts.
