I want to live in Mr. Roger’s neighborhood

Lately, with all the political chaos, the anger, the noise—it’s like the world has forgotten how to be kind. I find myself longing for the quiet simplicity of Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood. Not just the show, but the feeling it gave me watching it with my children—the calm, the safety, the certainty that someone, somewhere, believed in decency. Mr. Rogers wasn’t flashy. He didn’t yell to be heard. He just looked into the camera and reminded us that we mattered. That everyone mattered. In a time when so many of us are shouting past each other, I miss that kind of gentle presence. I miss the idea that being a good neighbor is more important than being right. 

If I could live in Mr. Rogers’ neighborhood now, I imagine it would feel like an exhale. A place where we look out for each other, not because we think the same way, but because we care. Where it’s okay to cry, to be afraid, to say, “I don’t know.” Where love isn't earned—it's just offered. A place where children learn not just their ABCs, but how to be kind. A space where hard conversations are met with patience and compassion, and where being human is more important than being perfect. That kind of neighborhood feels like a radical act of hope right now. 

And in this season of Pride, I think about what it means to truly belong—to be seen, accepted, and celebrated just as we are. Mr. Rogers’ neighborhood wasn’t just make-believe—it was a blueprint. A reminder that we can choose kindness, again and again. That a better world starts with listening, with showing up, with saying, “I’m glad you’re here.” I want to live in that kind of world. Not to hide from what’s hard, but to help slow it down and soften it. To hold space for healing, love, and humanity in a time when it is so deparately needed.