Buzzwords and Bullsh*t: When Wisdom Gets Lazy
Empathy on the Rocks: Buzzed Wisdom and Fly-By Judgments When the hive feels like home, but the swarm votes for smoke.
Yes, yes, we’ve all seen the quote:
“Bees don’t waste their time explaining to flies that honey is better than sh*t.”
It’s bold. It’s sticky. It’s smug. And it’s probably embroidered on a throw pillow somewhere in Boca Rotan—right next to a ballot that stings.
And sure, there’s truth in it. Not every argument deserves your nectar. Some folks are committed to their compost pile, and no amount of golden goo will change their taste. Boundaries matter. Energy is finite. Buzz wisely.
But here’s the rub:
Sometimes the fly isn’t choosing garbage—it was born in it. Raised on it. Told it was gourmet. Maybe it’s not arguing with the bee at all—it’s just trying to survive the only way it knows how.
And sometimes—God help us—the fly is your cousin. Or your friend. Or the person who taught you how to make cranberry relish with extra zest and zero judgment. Until election season.
They vote for the swarm that swats their own wings. They cheer for candidates who torch the hive. And you lie awake wondering: At what point does empathy become enablement? When does listening turn into complicity? Where’s the line between loving someone and losing yourself?
At Empathy on the Rocks, I still believe in the power of response. Yes, bees should protect their peace. But maybe—just maybe—before we slap a quote on a mug and call it wisdom, we ask:
What made the fly crave what it craves?
What stories shaped its flight path?
And is there a way to offer honey without condescension—or self-erasure?
Because empathy isn’t about explaining—it’s about listening. And sometimes, the most radical thing a bee can do… is land gently near the fly and say, “Are you hungry?” Even when your wings are tired. Even when the swarm is loud. Even when you’re not sure they’ll taste the honey at all.
OK - And here’s where I confess:
What do we do when the hive votes for arson?
It’s one thing when your neighbor believes in trickle-down economics. It’s another when your cousin believes the Constitution should be rewritten with crayons and conspiracy theories.
And you sit there, fork halfway to your mouth, wondering how the same person who once fought for union rights now reposts memes that make authoritarianism look like a spa day.
You want to scream. You want to educate. You want to throw your potato salad across the room and yell, “Democracy isn’t a buffet—you don’t just skip the parts you don’t like!”
But here’s the dilemma: Empathy asks us to listen. Democracy asks us to speak. And sometimes, those two values feel like they’re in a bar fight.
So, what do we do when someone’s belief system isn’t just different—it’s dangerous?
We draw lines. We set boundaries. We refuse to pretend that “agree to disagree” applies to dismantling civil rights or silencing dissent.
But we also ask:
What fear is fueling this flight?
What story made authoritarianism feel like safety?
And is there any way to offer truth without turning the table over?
I’ll be honest: I don’t always know how to do this. I want to be the bee who lands gently. But some days, I’m the bee who’s googling “how to build a new hive far, far away.”
I believe in empathy. I believe in democracy. I just don’t know how to hold both when the people I love are voting to burn the hive down.
So I’m thinking about it. Still buzzing. Still sighing. Still hoping that honey—and truth—might be enough.