What It Means to Be a Decent Human Right Now

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about what it actually means to be a decent human being, because truth is, decency feels like it’s getting tested in a thousand small ways every single day. And this season does not make it easier.

Not a nice one.
Not a polite one.
Not a perfectly behaved one who never gets irritated, impatient, or tired.

A decent one.

The world feels loud and arrogant right now. People feel stretched thin. And it’s not just “out there” on the internet or in the news. It’s in parking lots and grocery aisles and waiting rooms. In living rooms and family dinners. In those tiny moments where the smallest inconvenience can flip a switch in someone’s nervous system and suddenly everybody’s bracing for impact.

Add the holidays, and you can almost feel it in the air… expectations, grief, money stress, loneliness, too many obligations, too many opinions, too much stimulation. And you have a whole lot of people pretending they’re fine when they’re not.

Decency used to feel like an unspoken, shared agreement, like we all knew the basic rules and most of us tried to follow them. Now it feels more like a private decision you have to make on purpose, again and again. Even when the room is tense. Even when you’re exhausted. Even when nobody would blame you for snapping.

And the part that keeps coming back to me is this… decency has very little to do with the words we say we believe, and everything to do with how we actually behave when life is inconvenient, uncomfortable, or emotionally charged.

Most of us were raised on some version of old wisdom, whether it was spoken out loud or just lived quietly in the background. 

Treat people the way you want to be treated. Do no harm. Clean up your mess. Don’t make your bad day someone else’s burden. Leave things better than you found them, even if it’s just a little.

These aren’t complicated ideas. They’re not modern trends. You don’t need a book or a podcast to understand them.

What’s newer is how easy it has become to separate what we say we value from how we act when we’re frustrated. We say we value kindness… until someone irritates us. Compassion… until someone makes a choice we don’t understand. Honesty… until it costs us comfort or approval or being seen as the “good one.”

That’s where decency actually gets tested. Not in big moments where everyone can see you being noble, but in small, private moments where you’re deciding whether to escalate, dismiss, belittle, withdraw, or soften.

A few days ago, I was standing in a line that was moving at a pace that felt almost personal, like the universe had looked right at me and said, “Let’s see how patient you really are today.”

You know the scene. Long line. A flustered cashier. Someone behind you sighing loudly, as if volume might speed things up. I could feel my body tighten. I could feel my mind start scanning for someone to blame, because that’s what stressed nervous systems do.

Then I noticed the cashier’s hands. They were shaking just a little. She kept apologizing, not casually, but in that way people do when they’ve learned that other people’s irritation somehow belongs to them.

The person in front of me paused, looked her in the eye, and said, “You’re doing fine. Take your time.”

No performance. No speech. Just a steady voice that lowered the temperature of the whole interaction. You could see the cashier exhale, like her body had been bracing for impact and suddenly didn’t have to.

That’s what decency looks like.

Not dramatic. But powerful. Because it says, “I see you as a person, not a problem in my way.”

Decency also shows up with the people closest to us, and honestly, that can be harder. Family gatherings have a way of bringing old dynamics to the surface. There’s often an undercurrent of comparison, unresolved hurt, or someone quietly shutting down.

In those moments, decency often looks like restraint. Choosing not to take the bait. Choosing not to “win.” Choosing not to say the sharp thing your mind offers up because it would feel good for about five seconds.

I was in one of those conversations recently, where a few comments could have easily turned into a full argument. I could feel that part of me that wants to set the record straight, the part that believes clarity will fix everything.

Instead, I slowed down and said something simple. “I hear you. I’m not going to fight about this, but I’m also not willing to talk like that.” Then I changed the subject, not in a fake way, but in a “we’re not doing this today” way.

That’s decency too.

It’s not being a doormat. It’s not stuffing your truth. It’s protecting the moment from becoming a fire that burns everyone in the room, including you.

Being a decent human right now looks like pausing before reacting, not to be impressive, but because you understand that reactions have consequences and people are already carrying enough. It looks like holding your tone even when your nervous system is lit up. Asking a question instead of making an accusation. Refusing to make someone smaller just because you’re having a hard day.

It also looks like repair. One of the most underrated skills there is.

A decent person isn’t someone who never messes up. That person does not exist. A decent person is someone who notices, who owns it, who circles back, who says, “That came out wrong,” or “I was sharper than I needed to be,” without turning an apology into a paragraph of excuses.

And here’s the challenging part, said with love.

We don’t get to outsource decency. We don’t get to demand it from others while excusing ourselves. If our values are real, they show up in our behavior when it’s inconvenient, when we’re tired, when we’re frustrated, and when no one is watching.

Not perfectly. Not all the time. But enough that the people around us feel the difference.

Every small act counts more than we think. Holding the door. Letting someone merge. Lowering your voice instead of raising it. Choosing not to escalate. Offering grace where you once offered judgment.

In a world that feels sharp around the edges, decency is love in motion. It doesn’t need to be loud or posted or praised.

It just needs to be real.

So maybe that’s the invitation right now. Slow down enough to see what’s happening in front of you. Choose what you want to bring into a room. Match your words with your behavior. Circle back when you miss it. Keep trying.

Because in times like these, love doesn’t need better slogans.
It needs better follow-through.

Love is ALL there is.
Diana 💜