We’re not built to notice slow change.

You can watch the sun rise, but you’ll never catch it moving. You blink, and suddenly it’s day.
Progress works the same way. And because of that, it often goes unnoticed.

We tend to measure change in disasters, not in quiet improvements. When something fails, it’s a headline.
When something works, it’s a footnote — or worse, invisible.

But what happens when the only stories we tell are about collapse?

We start believing that progress doesn’t exist. That nothing we do matters. That we’re stuck — or worse, doomed.

This isn’t just a media problem. It’s a human brain problem. As philosopher William James wrote, “The art of being wise is the art of knowing what to overlook.”
But we’re not taught what to overlook — we’re taught what to panic about. What to fear. What to click.

And what we overlook, increasingly, is how much has already improved.

Here’s one fact that’s rarely front and center: global child mortality has dropped by more than 50% since 1990. That means millions — literally millions — of children are alive today because of medical advances, expanded access to care, and international cooperation.

This isn’t hypothetical. It’s not a model or a projection. It’s real, measurable change.
But it doesn’t feel dramatic enough. So we don’t talk about it.

Same goes for diseases we’ve nearly eradicated, like polio. For the 2.6 billion people who now have access to clean drinking water who didn’t in the year 2000. For the ozone layer, which — thanks to a global ban on CFCs — is genuinely healing. These things are miracles by any historical standard. But they’re quiet miracles.

And so they vanish from view.

If you spend your time scrolling through news headlines, you’ll see a world that looks like it’s unraveling. And yes, in many ways, we’re still facing massive, urgent challenges — climate change, war, inequality. I’m not denying that.

But I am challenging the idea that the world is a sinking ship with no lifeboats.

If anything, we’ve proven — over and over — that we’re capable of building the lifeboats. We’re capable of rowing. Of making change. Of turning the tide, even if it’s slow.

The problem isn’t that we’ve stopped making progress.
The problem is that we’ve stopped noticing it.

Brightside exists for that reason. Not to sugarcoat reality. But to complete the picture. To bring the full frame into view — the parts that inspire, not just the parts that alarm.

I built Brightside because I got tired of feeling like the only stories worth knowing were the ones that hurt. I wanted something that didn’t just report the fires, but also pointed to where the seeds were being planted.

Here’s the truth: If we only ever pay attention to what’s on fire, we’ll never notice the things that are blooming.

And if you don’t believe things can bloom — you’ll never try to grow anything.