I’m not one who has ever had a lot of pet peeves in life. I’m just not that easily irked. But if I had to come up with something that I find mildly more irritating than perhaps others do, it would be the number of times after a person reads a good book, that they respond to others and say, “You should read this.”
It’s not about reading. I enjoy reading. I’ve read at least 19 books on race, six on the conflict between China and Taiwan, books on gender identity, cultural amnesia and nearly everything ever penned by attorney-turned-author John Grisham.
It’s about the should.
It’s not just the fact that if I read every book that a person has told me I should read, I’d have no time left for anything else. It’s the subtle implication behind it — the not-so-thinly-veiled I know what you should do.
And it doesn’t stop there.
I know what you should do.
I know how you should feel.
I know how you should react.
Just like that our attention shifts from self-reflection to managing other people.
Let’s be honest: this is a wild time in our culture. Or perhaps more accurately, a wild, messy, uncertain, turbulent, concerning, polarizing and peeving time. But let us also posit that the wild, messy, uncertain, turbulent, concerning, polarizing and peeving time has existed far longer than many of us care to remember.
The world feels deeply unsettled. In just the past few weeks, a nonviolent protestor was shot and killed by a federal agent in Minnesota, followed by more unrest; Iranians have taken to the streets as their economy collapses under authoritarian rule; China has increased military exercises around Taiwan; a physician testified before Congress and declined to answer whether biological men can get pregnant; the President has expressed interest in acquiring Greenland; and immigration fits every adjective above, remaining complex and polarizing and something we’ve yet to handle well as a country.
This is hard, friends. But let’s be clear: suggesting that one of us knows what everyone else should do, feel or think — however well intentioned — is a weak argument.
Take immigration, for example. It’s undeniably complex. More than 11 million immigrants entered the U.S. between 2020-2025 with a peak of over three million people in 2023 alone. To claim that most are criminals is unfounded. To claim that most are simply good people seeking a better life is also unproven. In many cases, we rely less on evidence and more on what we want to believe, shaped by personal experience.
That’s not a criticism — we all do it.
For my part, I’ve worked as a human resources professional in Central and South Florida, one of the top states for immigrant populations. In trying to comply with existing law, I’ve encountered a wide range of people: those seeking a better life, those who knowingly overstayed because they simply preferred it here, and yes, criminals as well. My experience is just that — my experience. It’s not a scientific basis for prescribing what anyone else should believe.
My point is simply this: all of these realities exist. And we might be wiser if we lowered the volume, tempered the rhetoric, and worked together to thoughtfully address what is undeniably tricky and complex.
I know that’s difficult. It may require us to stop shouting, stop shaming, and stop telling others how they should feel.
Maybe — just maybe — there’s a book on that.
Respectfully…
AR