In my old age, I often wonder what is worse: the pearl-clutching Karens (all genders) who transform a lukewarm latte into a five-alarm human rights violation, or the doom-prophesying Chicken Littles who interpret every passing cloud as the harbinger of collapse. Both species strut through life with the self-importance of peacocks, their faces flushed with righteous fervor as they pound tables with quivering fists. They’re allergic to spreadsheets but addicted to exclamation points, understanding statistical variation about as well as my chihuahua understands calculus.

Yep, these same people will theoretically corner you—pinning you against the digital wall of a Facebook thread or, worse yet, trapping you between the cheese plate and potted fern at dinner parties—their pupils dilated to perfect circles, jaws clenched tight enough to crack walnuts, demanding you match their trembling, spittle-flecked hysteria over matters that have absolutely nothing to do with the gentle touch of a child’s hand, the soft weight of your aging parent leaning against your shoulder, or the quiet dignity of helping a stranger without expectation… the things that should really matter to all of us.

I learned long ago that great people—the kind who leave dinner tables warmer than they found them—focus on cultivating relationships like rare orchids, tending to older parents with phone calls that stretch past midnight, and showing up at their children’s soccer games with thermoses of hot chocolate even when it’s raining sideways. They care about their health enough to focus on their immune systems, building bodies that can carry grandchildren on shoulders while continuing to keep their minds sharp enough to know the difference between K Pop Demon Hunters and AI. These people wake each morning with purpose burning in their chests, using their God-given talents not just to pay bills but to leave fingerprints on the world, knowing that every interaction has some farther-reaching effect.

Yes, the table-pounding Karens and sky-is-falling Chicken Littles will waste precious heartbeats screeching about perceived injustices with veins bulging from their necks, while truly great souls are too busy planting trees for others, that they may never sit under.

Such is life.