Sometimes, it feels like genuine goodness has become rare.
We live in a world where people are quick to judge, criticize, and look the other way. Doing the right thing—even when no one is watching—can seem almost extraordinary. There are days when I find myself wondering what happened to kindness, compassion, and the simple act of caring about another human being.
On those days, I think about the preschoolers I teach.
I wish everyone could see the world the way they do.
Preschoolers do not care about the things adults use to divide one another. They do not notice whether someone wears expensive clothes, drives the right car, has a perfect body, or lives a picture-perfect life. They do not measure a person’s worth by their appearance, abilities, mistakes, or struggles.
They simply see a friend.
They offer hugs without hesitation. They invite someone to play because no one should be left out. They forgive quickly, laugh freely, and love with their whole hearts. Their kindness is pure because it does not come with expectations. They remind me that goodness is not something we have to learn—it is something we begin with.
Somewhere along the way, many people lose that innocence.
Living with neurofibromatosis has taught me a great deal about people. It has given me the ability to really see them—not just as they present themselves, but for who they are underneath. I notice who looks away and who chooses to look closer. I notice who judges what they do not understand and who takes the time to listen. I notice who disappears when life becomes uncomfortable and who quietly stays.
Sometimes, that realization makes me sad.
It hurts to discover that someone’s kindness only exists when life is easy or when there is something in it for them. It hurts to feel misunderstood, overlooked, or judged because of something I did not choose. Neurofibromatosis has revealed parts of people that I sometimes wish I had never seen.
But every once in a while, someone’s goodness shines through.
It appears in the person who asks how I am—and truly wants to know. It is found in the friend who sits beside me when there are no perfect words. It shines in those who choose compassion instead of judgment, patience instead of frustration, and love instead of fear.
Those moments restore something in me.
They remind me that goodness still exists. It may not always be loud or attention-seeking. Often, it is quiet. It is a hand reaching out, a thoughtful message, an unexpected act of kindness, or someone choosing to do the right thing simply because it is right.
Maybe we could all learn something from preschoolers.
What if we looked beyond appearances and simply saw the person standing in front of us? What if we invited others in instead of shutting them out? What if we forgave more easily, loved more openly, and stopped deciding someone’s worth before knowing their story?
The world does not need more perfection. It needs more people who are willing to be kind when kindness is inconvenient. It needs people who choose goodness when no one is watching.
Living with neurofibromatosis has shown me some difficult truths about people, but it has also made the beautiful moments impossible to miss. Because when you have experienced judgment, genuine acceptance feels even more powerful. When you have seen darkness, even the smallest light becomes extraordinary.
And when goodness shines through, I see it.
I feel it.
And I am reminded that there is still hope for all of us.
