The other day I was grumbling to a friend about having to go to the pharmacy. Not for me—for my elderly neighbor, who has cerebral palsy and clubfeet, so she can’t drive. Her caretaker sister just entered hospice, which means I’m now the designated errand-runner. Except when I got there, the pharmacy was closed. So I had to go back. Again.
I was venting—because sometimes even doing the right thing feels like a slog—and he said, “Well, that’s your people-pleasing showing.”
Excuse me?
It didn’t land right. Because yes, I was irritated, but I didn’t help out of guilt or fear or some secret craving for approval. I helped because… she’s my neighbor. Because she’s right there, physically next door. Because when you live close to someone, proximity tugs at conscience in a more networked way. The distance to help is easily conquered, negating nearly all excuses.
Maybe it’s not “people-pleasing.” Maybe it’s “mankindness.”
(Full disclosure: I would like to buy her house someday. Or have my friends buy it. Because I’m also a realist and believe in strategic compassion. But still—kindness first.)
The Paradox of the Perpetual Helper
Here’s the tension: Where’s the line between good neighborliness and self-erasure?
People-pleasing is fear-driven. You say yes so they’ll like you. You smooth edges, over-extend, swallow irritation, and eventually turn bitter while smiling sweetly. It’s a form of quiet control: If I just keep everyone happy, I’ll be safe.
Good neighborliness, though, is rooted in agency and empathy. It’s an ethic of proximity. You shovel the walk because you want your neighbors to, too. You bring soup because your friend got out of surgery and needs a hand.
The danger is when these two collapse into each other—when service becomes servitude. When we confuse care with caving.
Ancient Clues for Modern Boundaries
Philosophers have been arm-wrestling this question since forever. Aristotle would call people-pleasing a vice of excess—too much friendliness, too little spine. His ideal? The Golden Mean: a practiced balance between selfishness and martyrdom. The neighbor who helps once gladly but knows when to say, “Not today, friend. I need to tend my own garden.”
The Stoics—Epictetus, Marcus Aurelius—took a different tack: You can’t control outcomes, only intentions. Help because it’s right, not because it will earn gratitude. Act with virtue, then let it go. Marcus would’ve said, “Waste no more time arguing what a good neighbor should be. Be one.”
And Kant, that priggish moral engineer, would remind us: never make yourself a means to someone else’s comfort. Your job isn’t to be liked; it’s to act from principle. If universalized, a world of endless yes-sayers would collapse into chaos.
Across traditions, the same refrain hums: Love thy neighbor as thyself—as thyself being the operative clause. The Good Samaritan bound wounds, paid for the inn, and then continued his journey. He didn’t move in, reorganize the man’s pantry, and die of exhaustion.
Buddha said the same in a different dialect: compassion must walk the Middle Way. Too much self-denial breeds suffering. Real love starts with metta—loving-kindness for yourself first, then radiating outward.
In short, every sage who’s ever picked up a scroll agrees: compassion without boundaries isn’t virtue. It’s a nervous breakdown in slow motion.
When the Pharmacy Is Closed (Twice)
So there I was, fuming in my car in the CVS parking lot, having just tromped in and out to the counter only to discover that too was “CLOSED for lunch,” oscillating between saint and sucker. My friend’s “people pleaser” comment echoed, and I had to admit there was a splinter of truth—somewhere in there, I did want to be seen as “good.” But maybe that’s not pathology. Maybe it’s civilization.
Because isn’t that what being a neighbor is—a micro-civilization? The last non-governmental social structure left? We used to call it community, but the algorithm has replaced proximity with performance, a handshake with a thumbs-up.
Here in New Hampshire, we still wave to strangers and bring each other casseroles when shit hits the fan. It’s not virtue signaling; it’s survival. When the storm knocks the power out, it’s your neighbor with the generator (who may well be you) who saves your freezer full of Bardo Farm meat, not some bureaucrat in D.C.
So I’ll keep doing the pharmacy run. Not because I need her approval. Because I need to live in a world where people still show up. And because, I hope someday, someone will do the same for you. (And for me. Definitely for me.)
The Real Test
Here’s the litmus test I’ve landed on:
If I help out and feel resentful at the choice, that’s people-pleasing.
If I help and feel energized—connected, part of the hum of humanity—that’s good neighborliness.
One depletes. The other restores.
The paradox dissolves when you realize the trick isn’t to stop caring—it’s to care with clarity. To give without living with a slow leak. To help from fullness, not emptiness.
Maybe what the world needs isn’t fewer “people-pleasers” but more sovereign neighbors—people who act from grounded generosity, not guilt. People who say, “Yes, I’ll help you get your meds,” and mean it, and also, “No, I can’t do this every week,” and mean that too.
Because when we draw honest lines around our kindness, it stops being performative and starts being something closer to… holy.
If that makes me a people pleaser, fine—call me Liewe Heksie in die Apteek. Good witches make good neighbors for good reasons. And that’s good enough for me.
This morning, a little postscript from the universe: Louis and I were sitting in bed as we do on Sundays, side by side with our laptops, taking turns making coffee, when I noticed a missed call from the Neighbor. I called back. She’d fallen and needed help getting up.
“We’ll be there in five,” I said.
“I heard,” Louis called from the kitchen.
Five minutes later, we’re moving furniture, checking her meds, and handing her a cookie for her blood sugar. We get her up, steady, and safe, back in her favorite armchair. She reimburses me for the pharmacy run from a few days ago. She forgets to thank us, which happens more often than I would like.
And there’s a lesson in that, too.
Understanding the Paradox: People-Pleasing vs. Being a Good Neighbor
At its core, the paradox you’re describing lies in the tension between people-pleasing—a compulsive drive to gain approval or avoid conflict by bending over backward for others, often at the expense of your own boundaries, authenticity, or well-being—and being a good neighbor, which calls for genuine kindness, empathy, and community support without requiring self-erasure. People-pleasing can feel like a shortcut to harmony, but it risks resentment, burnout, and inauthentic relationships. Being a good neighbor, meanwhile, builds true reciprocity and mutual respect, but how do you offer help without tipping into endless accommodation? This isn’t just a modern self-help dilemma; philosophers and religious traditions have wrestled with it for millennia, framing it as a quest for balance between self and other, duty and desire, compassion and self-preservation. Let’s break it down step by step, drawing from key insights.
1. Defining the Tension
- People-Pleasing: This is often rooted in fear—of rejection, conflict, or loneliness. It prioritizes external validation (“If I say yes, they’ll like me”) over internal integrity. The paradox emerges because it masquerades as altruism but can erode the very relationships it seeks to nurture: constant yielding breeds imbalance, where one person becomes a doormat and others, unwitting exploiters.
- Good Neighborliness: Inspired by everyday ethics, this is proactive care—lending a hand, listening without judgment, or fostering community—without expecting quid pro quo. The rub? Without boundaries, it devolves into people-pleasing; with too many walls, it becomes isolation.
- The Paradox in Action: Imagine helping a neighbor with yard work weekly. If it’s from joy in connection, it’s neighborly. If it’s to avoid their subtle guilt-tripping, it’s people-pleasing. The challenge: How to discern and sustain the former without slipping into the latter?
Philosophers and religions offer tools not for easy answers, but for navigating this tightrope—emphasizing virtue as a practiced mean, compassion as enlightened self-interest, and love as a disciplined art.
2. Philosophical Perspectives: Virtue, Duty, and the Golden Mean
Philosophy often resolves the paradox by rejecting extremes: neither selfish isolation nor self-sacrificial exhaustion, but a cultivated equilibrium where helping others strengthens the self.
- Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics (Golden Mean): Aristotle saw virtues like generosity or friendliness as middles between vices. People-pleasing aligns with the excess of “incontinent amiability”—overly eager to please, leading to flattery and self-loss. True good-neighborliness is the mean: “friendliness” (philia), where you give appropriately, based on the relationship and your capacity. For Aristotle, this isn’t passive; it’s habitual practice. Ask: “What would build lasting equity here?” A neighborly act might mean helping once with enthusiasm, then gently redirecting future requests to encourage their independence. The paradox dissolves through phronesis (practical wisdom)—knowing when “yes” serves the whole, and when “no” does.
- Stoicism (Epictetus and Marcus Aurelius): In Enchiridion and Meditations, Stoics urged focusing on what’s in your control: your intentions, not others’ reactions. People-pleasing stems from outsourcing your peace to external approval; a good neighbor acts from inner virtue (arete), helping because it’s right, not to “win” affection. Marcus Aurelius wrote, “Waste no more time arguing what a good man should be. Be one.” The resolution? Detach from outcomes—offer aid freely, but preserve your equanimity. If a neighbor’s demands drain you, Stoic indifference says: Respond kindly, set limits, and remember, true neighborliness starts with self-mastery. It’s not cold; it’s sustainable compassion.
- Immanuel Kant’s Deontology (Groundwork for the Metaphysics of Morals): Kant flips the script: Act from duty, not inclination to please. The categorical imperative—”Treat others as ends, not means”—demands neighborly respect (e.g., honesty, aid in need) but forbids using yourself as a mere tool for their comfort. People-pleasing violates this by making your actions conditional on applause. Kant’s paradox-breaker: Universalize your choice. Would a world of endless yes-sayers collapse into exploitation? No—duty means balanced reciprocity, where you help as you’d wish to be helped, boundaries intact.
These thinkers converge on balance as agency: You’re not a passive pleaser or a reluctant helper, but an active cultivator of ethical relationships.
3. Religious Insights: Love, Compassion, and Sacred Boundaries
Religions frame the paradox as a divine tension—selfless service as a path to holiness, yet guarded by self-care to avoid idolatry of others’ needs. Here, neighborliness isn’t optional; it’s commanded, but wisely.
- Christianity (The Bible and Parable of the Good Samaritan): Jesus’ command in Leviticus 19:18 and Mark 12:31—”Love your neighbor as yourself”—is the paradox’s heartbeat. The “as yourself” clause is key: It assumes self-love as the baseline, preventing people-pleasing’s self-neglect. The Good Samaritan (Luke 10:25-37) models bold, boundary-aware action: He aids the wounded stranger extravagantly (bandages, inn, payment) but doesn’t abandon his own journey—he pays and moves on. Theologians like Thomas Aquinas echo Aristotle, calling charity (caritas) a mean between prodigality (excessive giving) and stinginess. The resolution? Discernment through prayer: Help from abundance, not depletion, mirroring God’s grace—freely given, never coerced.
- Buddhism (The Middle Way and Metta): Siddhartha Gautama’s Eightfold Path teaches the Middle Way, avoiding extremes of indulgence (selfish isolation) and asceticism (selfless overreach). People-pleasing is attachment (tanha) to approval, a form of suffering (dukkha). Good neighborliness flows from metta (loving-kindness) meditation: Radiate goodwill universally, starting with yourself (“May I be well”), then neighbors. The Jataka Tales illustrate this—Buddha’s past lives show compassionate acts (e.g., sacrificing for others) tempered by wisdom, not blind sacrifice. The paradox? Karuna (compassion) includes upekkha (equanimity)—help without clinging, preserving your wholeness to serve sustainably.
- Judaism and Confucianism (Chesed and Ren): In Judaism, chesed (loving-kindness) from Micah 6:8 (“Do justice, love mercy”) demands neighborly deeds but within tikkun olam (repairing the world) that honors your limits—think Maimonides’ ladder of charity, where enabling dependency is lower than fostering self-reliance. Similarly, Confucianism’s ren (humaneness) in Analects balances filial piety and social harmony: “Do not do to others what you do not want done to yourself” (15:24). Confucius warns against sycophancy as false benevolence; true neighborliness cultivates mutual growth, like a sage advising without obsequiousness.
Across traditions, the thread is sacred reciprocity: Divine love flows outward from an inner reservoir, refreshed by rest and reflection.
4. Resolving the Paradox: A Practical Path Forward
The paradox isn’t a dead end—it’s an invitation to integration. Philosophers and faiths agree: Start with self-awareness (journal: “Am I helping from fear or freedom?”). Practice small boundaries (“I’d love to help tomorrow, but tonight’s for me”). Seek community—true neighbors co-create equity, not extract it. Ultimately, as Kierkegaard (a bridge between philosophy and faith) might say in Works of Love, authentic neighborliness is anonymous grace: You give without tallying, receive without demanding, and in that freedom, the pleaser fades, revealing the wise helper within.
This tension has intrigued thinkers because it mirrors the human condition—interconnected yet individual. What sparks your intrigue most: a personal story, or a specific tradition? I’d love to dive deeper.
Concord cops correct a suspect’s pronouns in a wild transgender case. Judge Marconi—fresh off controversy—is back on the Supreme Court bench while her husband faces trial. John E. Sununu jumps into the federal Senate race—can he really be the Comeback Kid? Plus: Free Ian, local city elections, and insider New Hampshire details you won’t hear anywhere else!
This post also serves as Day 295 of My Living Xperiment.
Beef tongue… YUM! The verdict is in: delicious. Amazing how one bite can time-travel you. Suddenly I’m in Pretoria, it’s a hot Christmas Day, and I’m mildly annoyed that I have to stop doing somersaults into the pool just to eat. Back then, lunch was cold cuts and mustard, Ma and Pa with their beers, the grownups laughing in the shade while the kids cannonballed and shrieked.
Beef tongue tastes like thick-cut roast beef — meaty, hearty, comforting — but not wild or gamey. If you’ve never had it, I suspect it’s not because it’s unworthy, but because smart chefs make sure they get it first.
Thanks to the incredible work at The Content Factory, I was included with real estate experts Jan Ryan, Broker Owner of RE/MAX Direct in San Diego County, CA, and Rebecca Hidalgo, CEO/Designated Broker at Integrity All Stars Realty in Chandler, AZ in The Spruce with this article, Real Estate Agents Agree: This One Home Feature Always Sells a Home Faster.
My quote:
Carla Gericke, Realtor at Porcupine Real Estate in New Hampshire, says natural light is of utmost importance to her clients, especially since winters in the area can feel long, dark, and dreary.
“When you walk into a sun-drenched kitchen or a living room with south-facing windows with a prospective buyer, you can practically watch their shoulders drop,” she says. “Light impacts mood, productivity, and even health, so homes that maximize daylight feel instantly more inviting and uplifting.”
Buyers are often looking for big windows, open layouts that don’t block the sun, and an orientation that captures morning and afternoon light.
So if you’ve been considering replacing your windows or removing that old, overgrown tree blocking the light from your home, now might be a good time to do it.
Fact-Check Carla Gericke’s Statements about New Hampshire from the Dr. Phil Show Transcript
The transcript appears to be from a discussion (likely featuring a guest from New Hampshire) speculating on what the state might look like as an independent country. I’ll break down the key factual claims one by one, verifying them against reliable data. Opinions (e.g., “prosperous” or “like a little Hong Kong”) are noted as such but not fact-checked, as they’re subjective. All data is current as of October 2025, drawing from U.S. Census estimates, World Population Review, and official state sources.
1. “New Hampshire… would be a prosperous Little Country geographically”
- Verdict: Subjective, but geographically accurate as a “little country.”
- New Hampshire is one of the smallest U.S. states by land area, ranking 46th out of 50 at approximately 8,953 square miles (23,187 km²) of land (total area including water: ~9,350 sq mi or 24,214 km²). This is comparable to small sovereign nations like Slovenia (~7,827 sq mi) or Kosovo (~4,203 sq mi), making it a “little country” in geographic terms.
- Prosperity is opinion-based but supported by NH’s high median household income (~$90,000 in 2023, 7th highest in the U.S.) and low poverty rate (~7%). As an independent nation, its economy (currently ~$86 billion GDP) could rank it among mid-tier small economies like Slovenia or Latvia.
2. “[We’d be] bigger than countries in Europe population wise”
- Verdict: True.
- New Hampshire’s population is estimated at ~1.41 million as of mid-2025.
- This exceeds the populations of at least 18 European countries, including:
- Iceland (~399,000)
- Luxembourg (~661,000)
- Malta (~535,000)
- Cyprus (~1.27 million)
- Latvia (~1.83 million, but close—NH edges it out in recent estimates)
- Smaller microstates like Liechtenstein (~39,000), San Marino (~34,000), Monaco (~39,000), Andorra (~80,000), and Vatican City (~800).
- For context, NH’s population is similar to that of Estonia (~1.37 million) or just below Lithuania (~2.86 million). It would rank around 150th globally by population, akin to small European nations.
3. “[We’d be] four times the size of Iceland”
- Verdict: Mostly true if referring to population; false if referring to land area.
- The phrasing is ambiguous (“size” after mentioning “population wise”), but context suggests population.
- Population: NH (~1.41 million) is about 3.5–3.6 times larger than Iceland’s (~399,000). Close enough to “four times” for casual speech.
- Land area: NH (~8,953 sq mi) is only ~23% the size of Iceland (~39,768 sq mi or 103,000 km²). Iceland is vastly larger geographically.
- Iceland is one of Europe’s sparsest countries (density: ~4 people/sq mi), so NH would indeed be “bigger” population-wise despite being much smaller in area.
4. “[We’d] be able to export energy [because] New Hampshire has a nuclear plant that no one talks about”
- Verdict: True on the nuclear plant; plausible (but hypothetical) on energy exports.
- New Hampshire has one operating nuclear power plant: Seabrook Station in Seabrook, NH (a 1,244-megawatt pressurized water reactor, operational since 1990). It generates ~55% of the state’s electricity and supplies carbon-free power across New England (e.g., to Massachusetts and Vermont utilities). It’s often under-discussed compared to larger plants, but it’s a key regional asset.
- As an independent country, NH could export energy via existing grid ties (e.g., to ISO New England). Currently, Seabrook saves New England consumers ~$500 million annually in emissions reductions and low-cost power. No other nuclear plants exist in NH, and it’s the state’s only major baseload power source beyond renewables/hydro.
5. “[We] have a deep sea port”
- Verdict: True.
- New Hampshire’s Port of Portsmouth (on the Piscataqua River) is the state’s only deep-water port, with a 45-foot (14-meter) channel depth suitable for large vessels (e.g., container ships up to 1,000+ feet). It handles ~4.8 million tons of cargo annually, including international freight, and supports the U.S. Navy’s Portsmouth Naval Shipyard.
- It’s strategically located ~40 miles north of Boston, serving as a gateway for northern New England trade. As a sovereign nation, it could function like a compact trade hub (e.g., similar to Estonia’s ports).
6. “[New Hampshire] could become like a little Hong Kong to the whole Eastern Seaboard where we’re more prosperous than we could be under [the U.S.]”
- Verdict: Speculative opinion, but plausible based on assets.
- This is hypothetical and not fact-checkable, but NH’s combo of a deep port, nuclear energy, educated workforce (highest high school graduation rate in the U.S.), and proximity to Boston/NYC (~1-hour drive) could position it as a trade/finance hub. Hong Kong (pop. ~7.5 million, area ~426 sq mi) thrives on its port and low taxes—NH already has no income/sales tax, which boosts prosperity. However, independence would introduce challenges like defense, currency, and trade barriers.
Overall Assessment
Most factual claims hold up well, with the Iceland “size” comparison being the only minor stretch (likely intentional hyperbole for population). The vision of NH as a prosperous mini-nation is optimistic but grounded in its real strengths: compact geography, energy independence potential, and trade access. If independent, it might resemble a scaled-down version of Singapore or Luxembourg—small, wealthy, and export-focused—rather than Hong Kong. For deeper dives, check U.S. Census data or NH state reports.