This Column Has Been an Experiment. It’s Working.

Instead of wondering what’s wrong with the loudest people, what if I looked at what drives the kindest people?

“Be not simply good; be good for something.”

I’m writing a book about Henry David Thoreau, so his words have occupied most of my office and brain lately. This line, from a letter to a friend, always interrupts my research with a moment of existential angst. I’m good, sure. But am I good for something?

This column has been an experiment. It has something to do with that Thoreau line, something to do with social media, and everything to do with me.

We’ve seen the research about social media’s crushing effects on self-esteem. I wonder if the opposite can be true, too. Can social media make us a little too sure of ourselves? Has it set too low a bar on what it means to be good? Twitter (X, whatever), cable news, and reality shows reward bad behavior with attention. Someone says something outrageous, people respond with righteous indignation, and things spiral until we can’t tell the two groups apart. It’s easy to conclude that simply not being a monster becomes a contribution to society. Opting out makes us good, or at least better than them.

Somewhere along the way, I confused being passive with being good, a conclusion that slipped into my offline life. Wasn’t there a version of me that insisted I could make a difference? Wasn’t there a version of me who didn’t spend so much time scrolling while wondering, What is wrong with these people?

I suffered from a problem of misplaced focus. Instead of wondering what’s wrong with the loudest people, what if I looked at what drives the kindest people—then try to keep up? When Editor Greg Lacour asked how I wanted to focus this column, I told him, “Good people doing kind things quietly.” The Year of the Great Humbling ensued. I spent each month talking with people whose goals weren’t about gaining publicity or followers but simply helping. Being good for something.

People like Calla Hales, who endures death threats to run a desperately needed women’s reproductive health care clinic. People like Venitra White-Dean, who supports caregivers, practically and emotionally. People like Whitney Bruce, a wildlife rehabilitator who tends lovingly to animals most would discard: opossums hit by cars, raccoons abandoned in traps. They know they don’t have the resources to change everything but have the power to change something—so they do. Being this generous and vulnerable is the bravest way to live.

None of them mentioned a surplus of time or money. They do all this while they care for families, work demanding jobs, fundraise their booties off. I asked Jenn Andrews, founder of the Move For Jenn Foundation—which raises money for sports prosthetics for her fellow sarcoma survivors—how she has time to run a nonprofit.

“It’s not about how much time you have,” she told me. “It’s about what’s important to you.”

How’s my experiment gone? Am I good for something yet? I have more to do, but I’m finding my way. I’ve donated some time, some money, some meals. Thanks to Amanda Forsythe of Pits & Giggles, a pit bull who began the year as a scratched-up stray will be on the 2023 McGivney family Christmas card. Thanks to Donna Bolls of Charlotte Wildlife Stewards, I’m one step from registering my yard as a certified wildlife habitat. Thanks to everyone who’s been on this page, I feel inspired and empowered. I’m finding ways to do more next year.

Speaking of 2024, I’d love to hear from you as I write new columns. Who are your neighbors and friends who inspire you to be good for something? Who’s doing kind work without a PR campaign? Brag on them to me: jennifer.mcgivney@gmail.com.

A political strategist whom I refuse to name said that the key to beating the media was “to flood the zone with shit.” If people feel overwhelmed with lies and provocations, they’ll grow cynical. They’ll opt out. I’ve been there, but I refuse to stay there.

I suffer no delusions. I have just one page in a city magazine; I can’t flood the zone with anything. But I can use this page as an antidote to cynicism for myself and anyone else who needs it. I’ll continue to share stories of how people help, and how the rest of us might, too. I think of another Thoreau line: “In the long run, men hit only what they aim at.” The generosity of everyone on this page is my new target.

JEN TOTA McGIVNEY is a writer in Charlotte.