The Easiest Thing
It is one of the great paradoxes of being human—that we are built for connection and yet so often masterful at abandonment. That we speak endlessly of kindness, of compassion, of love as though it were some sacred currency, yet fail each other in small, effortless ways that cost nothing to prevent and leave everything in ruins when we don’t.
We fail each other in silences that stretch too long. In unreturned texts. In brushing off grief because we don’t know what to say. In not saying I’m sorry when we know, in the pit of our stomach, that we should. In withholding gentleness not because it is in short supply, but because we have convinced ourselves—somehow—that the other person should earn it. We fail one another with eyes turned away from pain, with well-meaning platitudes offered instead of presence, with the easy retreat into comfort rather than the uncomfortable work of showing up.
It’s staggering, really, how simple it is to stay. To call. To listen without interruption. To say I believe you. I see you. I’m not going anywhere. And yet, how often do we fail? Not in epic, cinematic betrayals—but in the quiet ways that go unnoticed by most and remembered forever by the one we left behind.
I’ve seen it. I’ve lived it. The friend who said she’d be there, but couldn’t hold space when the grief got too sharp. The teacher who didn’t ask what was wrong, though the signs were flashing in red. The family member who said you’re too sensitive when all I wanted was softness. And yes—I’ve done it too. Failed others when I could have chosen better. Chosen braver. Chosen love.
Because that’s the thing no one tells you when you’re growing up—that love isn’t a grand gesture, not always. Most of the time, it’s inconvenient. It’s boring. It’s replying even when you’re tired. It’s showing up without fanfare. It’s holding the door open and not waiting for applause. It’s picking up the phone when someone is spiralling and saying, I don’t have the answers, but I’m here. It’s not fixing—but staying.
What breaks my heart is how easy it is not to fail one another. Truly. How accessible care can be when we stop making it conditional. How transformative it is to meet someone where they are—not where it’s comfortable for us to find them. We don’t need degrees in empathy, nor training in compassion. We just need to remember what it feels like to be left. To be dismissed. To be the one sitting in the dark, praying someone flips the switch and walks in.
And if we can remember that—if we can stay close to our own moments of loneliness, of unraveling, of near collapse—then maybe, just maybe, we’ll reach out instead of retreat. Hold instead of hesitate. Say I love you instead of let me know if you need anything.
Because failing each other is easy. But choosing not to? That’s the easiest thing of all.
