In a time when corruption no longer hides its face and political violence is becoming routine, outrage has become the default language of public life. Equanimity may seem irrelevant—or, worse, complicit. What kind of person stays calm in the face of injustice? Who, in their right mind, resists the pull toward righteous indignation when world leaders violate every essential norm of human decency?
And yet, I’d like to suggest something quietly radical: that equanimity, rightly understood, is not passivity—but resistance. A deeper kind of resistance. One that refuses to be hijacked by the very forces it seeks to oppose.
A few months ago, I met john a. powell (who does not capitalize the letters of his name) at a backyard get-together. Given his position as director of the Othering & Belonging Institute at UC Berkeley and as a prominent voice for equity, I expected our conversation—centered on funding cuts and Department of Justice investigations into colleagues at UC Berkeley—to be tinged with shared outrage. But john didn’t meet my indignation with more fire. He simply smiled—a true “Duchenne” smile—and said, “I just stick to my values.”
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That sentence has echoed in me ever since.
It clarified something I had only been circling: that equanimity is an act of resistance, an assertion of dignity. It is the quiet refusal to be swept up in the emotional hyper-reactivity that so often masquerades as moral clarity. It is not indifference—it is passion tempered with wisdom. Not detachment—but perspective.
Outrage and the illusion of clarity
Outrage feels good, at least at first. It is hot, energizing, thrilling. It releases adrenaline, cortisol, testosterone—priming us to argue, dominate, and act.
But it comes at a cost. Physiologically, outrage taxes our bodies. Cognitively, it narrows our perception, distorting what we see and hear and what we believe about others. When I’m in the grip of anger or indignation—at a partner, a public figure, or the world—I lose the ability to see nuance. I see enemies instead of people. I lose the thread of complexity and collapse into monovision.
Outrage can easily become its own kind of addiction, a self-reinforcing loop where the more morally outraged we are, the more righteous we feel. In places like Berkeley, where I live, this has become a kind of social currency—a way of signaling virtue and belonging. But what does it accomplish?
Too often, righteous indignation calcifies into zealotry: the fanatical, uncompromising pursuit of our ideals. History shows us where that leads—violence, exclusion, contempt. And here’s the hardest part to swallow: in our most indignant moments, we can begin to enact the very qualities we’re condemning in others. The same absolutism. The same disdain for difference. The same dehumanization. The same blind certainty.
Equanimity as moral resistance
So what makes us vulnerable to the kind of anger that slips into contempt or even cruelty? For me, it often begins in shame.
Quiet Strength: Find Peace, Feel Alive, and Love Boundlessly Through the Power of Equanimity (HarperOne, 2026, 336 pages)
When I reflect honestly, I notice that my most volatile reactions are tied to things I hate in myself—places I’ve missed the mark or failed to live up to my own ideals. Outrage becomes a shield, a projection, a way of disowning what is hard to face internally. There is little that is harder than facing the parts of myself that in any way resemble our current president.
It is far easier to condemn greed, narcissism, contempt, and cruelty in the abstract than to look at the ways they show up in my own life. Easier to demonize the other than to wrestle with my own complicity. And yet, this is where equanimity can begin—not in superiority, but in humbleness.
To me, equanimity is not apathy. It is not a flattening of emotion or a retreat from the world. Rather, it is the ability to stay rooted in our values while engaging with the world as it is. john powell reminded me of this with his Duchenne smile. Equanimity, he reminded me, is not a cop-out—it is a necessity in times of moral collapse.
When outrage becomes habitual, it becomes ineffective and draining. Even outrage can become complacent—performative rather than sincere. But equanimity, especially when paired with courage and clarity, becomes a platform for more skillful and enduring forms of action. It allows us to see more clearly, speak more effectively, and love more fiercely.
When I imagine doubling down on my own integrity—not as withdrawal, but as resistance—I feel the ground of equanimity beneath me. It doesn’t make me passive. It makes me effective.
The work ahead
Toward the end of my upcoming book on equanimity, I have a chapter on connecting the dots between living an ethical life and finding equanimity. I share some deeply personal stories about learning—usually the hard way—how my own unethical behavior gave rise to anxiety and agitation. The link between the two is unmistakable, and nowhere is it more apparent than when you sit down to meditate.
Simply put: Unethical conduct breeds agitation; ethical conduct fosters peace. And agitation is fertile ground for outrage and projection to take root. Throw in some social media and global instability, and you are well on your way to zealotry. Peace is fertile ground for perspective and clarity to grow. Toss in some honest self-reflection and an intention for greater integrity, and you can harness the energy of outrage toward creative solutions and effective engagement.
The world doesn’t need more anger. It doesn’t need more contempt, or more zealotry, however righteous. It needs people who can hold the fire of moral clarity without burning others to the ground. It needs people who can stay close to suffering without becoming consumed by it. It needs people who can see clearly without collapsing into cynicism or despair.
It needs, perhaps, more equanimity—not as escape, but as a radical refusal to be consumed by the very forces we seek to confront. When the fires rise, and the outrage surges, ask yourself this: Can I stick to my values without succumbing to the dopamine rush of indignation? Can I stay awake and engaged—without becoming what I oppose?
That, I believe, is the quiet power of equanimity.
