“We don’t need more ladder climbers, fame seekers, and adulation hunters.
We need more caregivers and reconstructors of broken souls—people who tell uplifting stories to the lonely, the depressed, and the beaten down.”
—The Dalai Lama

(This is the nicest way a holy man can say: “Stop being jerks and help somebody.”)

My Aquarius generation moved mountains. How about yours?

We Aquarius warriors—rebellious, sex-obsessed, pot-perfumed hippies who treated bar soap like it was plutonium—nevertheless managed a thing or two:

• Tackled tobacco-related lung cancer
• Cut auto fatalities despite driving VW buses in a fog of incense
• Rolled out the polio vaccine
• Banned the bomb (and its lovable sidekick Strontium-90)
• Swatted down DDT, hydrocarbons, and that L.A. smog that doubled as a salad dressing
• Fought racial injustice without hashtags, iPhones, or “going viral” except for the occasional fungus

Not too shabby for a generation accused of naval-gazing. We may have gazed at our navels, yes—but we also got up and did things. Without Google Maps.

Today’s Culture: From Flower Power to PowerPoint Presentations of Outrage

The long-haired hippie has been replaced by:

• TikTokers performing dances choreographed by algorithms,
• Crypto bros who worship coins you can’t hold, and
• Self-righteous doomscrollers who cancel people before breakfast and ghost them by lunch.

Nobody listens anymore. Listening is now considered a weakness, like drinking decaf.

Instead, we shout our beliefs into the void—and congratulate ourselves for it.
“Engage with others?” Pfft. That’s for weenies.
Compromise? That’s for grandmas and bipartisan unicorns.

And Then There’s QAnon—The Conspiracy Buffet

As David Brooks notes, too many folks have joined the holy cult of QAnon, where every American institution is corrupt and Hillary Clinton apparently runs a subterranean pizza-parlor day spa for pedophiles.

Why would anyone swallow such lunacy?
Because it confirms what they already suspect.
It lets them feel comfortable in their ignorance.
(“I don’t need facts—I have suspicions!”)

We old naval-gazers find this offensive.
We worked hard for our suspicions.

Meanwhile, America—Land of the Sad Sacks

In spite of all this comfort, we now rank 24th on the U.N. Happiness Index.
Twenty-fourth!
Behind Mexico, Costa Rica, and Slovenia.

If that index existed in 1967, the Beatles, Abby Hoffman, JFK, and Bob Dylan would’ve marched on Geneva with guitars, bullhorns, and at least one psychedelic bus until the ranking improved.

Better Hills to Die On Than Hillary’s Pizza Parlor

Instead of fighting imaginary basement monsters, we might address a few actual catastrophes, such as:

• 107,000 Americans dying of drug overdose every year
• 23,000 dying by suicide, quiet crimes of despair so common they barely dent the TikTok news cycle
• Entire towns hollowed out by loneliness, isolation, and quiet heartbreak

Who’s listening to the neighbor who hasn’t spoken to anyone for a week when the guest list on Epstein’s private island needs to be decoded.

Where are the caregivers?
Where are the storytellers who can speak hope into the lonely and depressed?
Where are the people willing to be heroes without posting about it?

The Dalai Lama’s Challenge

Maybe the old monk is right:
We don’t need more ladder climbers, influencers, and fame collectors.

We need reconstructors of broken souls, people who can tell uplifting stories

Maybe even a touch of that old Aquarius spirit:
Idealism with calluses.
Compassion with courage.
Listening with both ears.

Sounds Groovy to me