There is something beautifully infectious about pure, unadulterated joy. When you watch two young granddaughters transfixed by the simple magic of popping popcorn, or catching their breath as they sprint through a cold waterfall, you cannot help but smile. You feel warm all over. In those quiet, ordinary moments, joy requires no explanation. It demands nothing from us other than our presence.
Philosophers often speak of intersubjectivity—the fancy term for how human beings are wired to mirror and share each other’s internal states. We are not isolated islands; we are built to resonate with the emotions around us. When we witness pure joy, our defenses drop, and we briefly share a single, unified experience of the world.
We see this on a grand scale, too. The ecstatic roar of soccer fans from every corner of the globe, or the booming chorus of college baseball fans singing together in Omaha, reminds us of a collective warmth. Lately, these moments have felt less like mere entertainment and more like a lifeline. They have infected us in the best way possible, precisely when we desperately needed to be reminded of common purpose.
Yet, if joy is our natural state of connection, why does the modern world feel so fractured?
I recently listened to an explanation of our growing cultural divide that clicked perfectly. It points the finger at modern media and their use of “algorithms”—complex computer rules designed to track our behavior. The math behind these formulas is simple but cynical: it has discovered that anger, outrage, and fear keep human eyes glued to screens much longer than peace or contentment.
In a very literal sense, we are living in what philosophers call an “Attention Economy.” In this economy, your peace of mind is worth nothing to a tech company, but your irritation is worth millions. To make a profit, modern media intentionally stokes our anxieties, pisses us off, and subtly coaxes us into viewing our neighbors as adversaries. It trains us to mistake difference for danger.
But human history proves that we are entirely capable of getting along with people who hold vastly different beliefs. For centuries, communities have shared harvests, raised barns, and lived side-by-side not because they agreed on everything, but because they recognized their shared humanity. Left to our own devices—without an algorithm constantly whispering in our ears about what to hate—we naturally lean toward cooperation.
We don’t need a perfectly uniform society; we just need to reclaim our attention from the machines designed to break it.
It seems to me that the antidote to a culture of irritation is a radical commitment to joy. Joy is not trivial or silly; it is an act of resistance against a system that wants us bitter. We need fewer screens telling us why we should be angry at a stranger, and more moments watching children run through waterfalls. We need more joy, because joy is the only thing powerful enough to remind us that we actually belong to one another.
Loved this one. You are on a roll!
Thank You!