Advice | Vox Our world has too much noise and too little context. Vox helps you understand what matters. 2026-08-05T16:55:50+00:00 https://www.vox.com/rss/advice/index.xml https://platform.vox.com/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/08/vox_logo_rss_light_mode.png?w=150&h=100&crop=1 Allie Volpe <![CDATA[What’s the difference between fashionably late and straight-up rude? We asked three experts.]]> https://www.vox.com/?p=497915 2026-08-04T09:25:09-04:00 2026-08-04T09:30:00-04:00 An illustration of a clock with a face, arms, and legs running in front of a cityscape.

There are two kinds of people in this world: those who find it acceptable to be a little tardy and those who consider it an affront to all that is decent. As someone who frequently runs late, I’m often relieved when someone else is, too. And I don’t mind if a friend is a bit behind; the worst-case scenario is I have a few minutes of peace in which to stare at my phone. But the perpetually punctual see this as disrespect, as showing up late is a sign you don’t value others’ time, that you believe what you’re doing is more important.

The reality is often much more banal. Chronically late people may overestimate how long something will take them (like getting ready or commuting), are perhaps multitasking, or lose track of time. 

Of course, few people would be satisfied with waiting at a restaurant for an hour while their date swears they’re only ten minutes away. Is there a socially acceptable sweet spot for tardiness that satisfies both the need for punctuality while giving grace to the time-challenged? To answer that question, I enlisted the help of three people with unique viewpoints: an etiquette expert, a researcher who has studied lateness, and an extremely punctual guy who has strong feelings on the matter.

Answers have been lightly edited and condensed for clarity.

The etiquette expert: You get a 15ish-minute buffer to casual events, 5 minutes for everything else

“Five minutes late to a Zoom call or a scheduled phone call for work is, in my mind, really late. Five minutes late to meet your friend at a restaurant is not very late and very forgivable. Five minutes late to their house, super forgivable. Half an hour late to dinner and they won’t seat you and now you’ve lost your table, that starts to be a bit annoying. Late to a surprise party is unforgivable. I’ve seen hosts get really upset about that one because you can likely ruin a very well-planned surprise. There’s a 15-to-30-minute arrival period for most gatherings. You push past that and you’re showing up really late. If you are going to be late, let somebody know, whether it’s a phone call or a text message.

If you were only getting together for an hour and you’re starting to push the half-hour mark, you might want to check in with someone about whether you’ve really messed up and it’s not worth it for them to stay and meet with you for 20 minutes by the time you arrive. 

There are definitely friends who take advantage of other people’s time and that would be something to talk with someone about if it’s chronic and to the point where it starts ruining the experience. You could say, ‘I know that you’re often 20 to 30 minutes late when we get together for something. It would mean a lot if you could try to be on time at seven for this one.’ We can’t control how other people react. They might feel offended. They might start rattling off reasons why they’re always late and you can say, ‘I know and I understand it really does happen, but it’s been consistent enough and this one’s important. I would really love to have you get there at the start time.’ I think that can make a difference.”

—Lizzie Post, co-author of Emily Post’s Etiquette: The Centennial Edition

The lateness researcher: It depends on the cultural norms of the people involved

“Being late differs across the world. We have wide windows of time or very narrow ones depending on the culture. In our research, we were comparing Dutch, South African, and Pakistani norms. We knew that there would be differences, but we had no idea how much. Pakistanis really have a different idea about lateness. They’re much more flexible about it. The window’s much wider. For the Dutch and South Africans, the window is about 15 minutes. After that, people will start thinking they’re not coming anymore or start calling. But for Pakistanis, that moment arrives much later.

For people who grew up in cultures that are more aligned with the Protestant work ethic, we would say there’s a deal between two people about the time frame. If you don’t conform to that, then you violate that norm and then you are late. For Pakistanis, it is a time frame that aligns with the clock, but it depends on who is there, not so much as a deal between two people. The Dutch are very egalitarian. Everyone, it doesn’t matter what status you have, is allowed about 15 minutes. But we saw that for Pakistanis, if you’re meeting a very important person, then they can arrive much later.

There’s also a bit of the emotional side or the feeling that you are personally responsible and you’re rude if you don’t stick to those norms. I discussed this in class with my students because a lot of them show up late. I was saying, ‘I think it’s very rude when there’s somebody presenting and they get interrupted by doors opening.’ A lot of them said, ‘I don’t think it’s rude.’ They had different norms about that situation. Some of them agreed with me, but not everyone.

In practice, I think that it depends on how important the appointment is. In our class, we emphasized that we as teachers find being on time important. The norm violation becomes more important when it is explicit. And I have a sense that now the students are more apologetic.

In developing intercultural skills, ‘bridging’ is often trained. One of the things in bridging is to make expectations explicit. It involves explaining how violating the norms surrounding them are experienced, and then trying to find solutions that are acceptable for both sides. Often, this leads to people agreeing that it means give and take, but it can also mean changing procedures or rules.”

—Wendelien van Eerde, associate professor at Amsterdam Business School at the University of Amsterdam

The punctual guy: Actually, just be early

“For a home-hosted dinner party, no more than 30 minutes late before it’s inconsiderate. 

For dinner reservations at a restaurant, five minutes before is inconsiderate as normally your party can’t be seated until everyone is there and making everyone wait for you isn’t cool. 

For house party gatherings, show up whenever unless specifically asked by the host to be there at a specific time. 

For work-related situations, like being on set ready to shoot at your scheduled call time, be there five minutes before your call time. The crew got there on time to prepare for you. Show them the same respect. Your time is not more valuable than theirs.”

—Bobby Berk, interior designer and host of HGTV’s Junk or Jackpot?

The bottom line: Be considerate and communicate

Try as we might to get everything done, leave the house in a timely manner, and hope for no traffic, life often has other plans. Lateness happens. But as long as you make a good faith effort to be on time, openly communicate when you’re running behind, and don’t make a habit of it, consider a 10-to-15 minute window an appropriate buffer. Any later and you might start to lose goodwill.

]]> Allie Volpe <![CDATA[Should you cancel those plans? Here are 5 questions to help you decide.]]> https://www.vox.com/?p=496304 2026-08-03T11:16:58-04:00 2026-08-03T11:15:00-04:00 An illustration of a woman with floppy limbs melting into an armchair.

It’s the act that’s defined a generation, an experience so common it’s become memeified: canceling plans. Bailing is a litmus test of sorts; who and what events you back out of says a lot about you as a person. Are you the type who commits and only bails when absolutely necessary? Or are you a frequent flake looking to change their ways? (No judgment here: The occasional canceling of plans is acceptable, and you shouldn’t feel guilty about it.)

Call it a byproduct of overscheduling, a facet of introversion, or a condition of mild social anxiety, but bailing is a popular tool in our social arsenal. Regularly deployed mere hours ahead of a previously scheduled engagement we’ve come to dread, canceling was once considered a get-out-of-obligation-free card. In recent years, though, general consensus around bowing out has seemed to shift, perhaps spurred by the growing attention paid to the dangers of social isolation or simply because being consistently bailed on feels like garbage. All of which is to say, canceling requires much more tact than simply rattling off a text 30 minutes before you’re supposed to meet up with a friend.

There are, of course, valid reasons to skip a movie night (you’re sick, for instance) and very few excuses good enough to justify not showing up to a wedding you RSVP’d to. But rather than giving in to the impulse to flake when the urge hits, it’s important to make a more considered choice based not on how much you think you’ll enjoy a social event but on the consequences of skipping. 

Consider this your canceling checklist, a bailing thought experiment, a toolkit for bowing out. Taken together, the following five questions will help inform your decision on whether to skip a social engagement.

Who are you bailing on?

Before flaking, take your audience into consideration — namely, whether this is a person you’d be comfortable inconveniencing. Because we’ve already invested significant time and energy into close relationships with family and friends, we’re more likely to want to preserve those relationships by upholding plans. This past history can influence how comfortable we are with bailing.

“How important is this person?” Julian Givi, an associate professor of marketing at West Virginia University, tells Vox. “Do I value this person’s friendship, or are they someone that I’m okay with canceling on? Have they canceled on me?”

Close friends are complicated. In a study, William Chopik, an associate professor in the Department of Psychological and Brain Sciences at Washington University in St. Louis, found that participants reported being most upset when a best friend canceled on them, compared with when a good friend or acquaintance canceled. Ironically, though, that closeness gives us latitude. People also tend to be more forgiving when close friends cancel on them, Chopik says. By virtue of knowing someone so intimately, we understand the constraints on their time and can intuit they’d only cancel for a good reason. It’s also safe to assume we’ll likely see them again soon, too.

We may feel less obligated to those we don’t know well. The participants in Chopik’s study said they’d only be “a little” upset if an acquaintance canceled plans. So, if this is someone you don’t know very well, and don’t necessarily plan to, you might feel more comfortable ditching them.

It’s okay to bail if…

  • It’s a casual event…
  • …With someone who won’t mind (i.e., someone you know super well or not that well at all).
  • You offer an honest excuse.
  • You don’t cancel last minute.
  • You or your kid is sick.
  • A genuine conflict arises.
  • And you reschedule the plans.

What’s the occasion? 

A monthly game night and a funeral don’t carry the same significance. You can probably guess which one is acceptable to skip. The formality of the event will give you a signal on whether it’s alright to bail. “People are more likely to cancel informal things,” Chopik says.

It’s fine to bail on a coffee hang, but think twice before ditching a wedding, funeral, retirement party, or other event of importance where someone might’ve paid money for you to be there, even if you don’t necessarily deem it a monumental occasion. “If it’s super important to this person, I’ll go, I’ll move mountains, I’ll traverse seas, I’ll travel as much as possible or inconvenience myself a lot,” Chopik says. “But then if it’s more informal or you don’t know them very well and the burden to get there is high, those things are the things that’ll lead you to likely cancel.”

While it may seem acceptable to ghost on a group occasion — who would notice you’re missing anyway? — your absence might alter the vibe. Take a bachelor or bachelorette party: If five of seven invitees back out, the celebration has shifted from a group affair into an intimate gathering. “Those last two left are in such a weird situation where it’s like, now I don’t want to go as much because it’s a smaller bachelor party,” Givi says. Your bailing signals to the stragglers that the event isn’t fun enough for everyone to attend.

How annoying is it for you to attend?

How often do we schedule a hangout only to remember later how much of a burden it’ll be to get there? The costs — financial, logistical, and energetic — all factor heavily into which plans we see through. A long and expensive commute for a short, casual hang when you’re already exhausted may not seem worth it. 

The problem is, we’re bad at predicting how much fun we’ll have. We tend to overestimate the costs and underestimate how enjoyable the event might be, which leads us to cancel plans. In reality, our worst fears almost never materialize. “If you’re really anxious about it, it’s probably not going to be as bad as you expect. And that’s a pretty consistent finding,” Ella Moeck, a lecturer at Adelaide University in South Australia, tells Vox.

Everyone’s bar for what constitutes “too far” or “too much effort” varies, though. Your canceling over a 15-minute drive across town runs the risk of pissing off a friend who doesn’t consider that a hassle at all. 

Concerning money, when people have already paid up front, they’re more likely to stick with plans. In that case, canceling would create more problems instead of quelling them. “That’s why anytime I’m planning anything, especially if it involves money, I make people Venmo me weeks in advance,” Givi says, for, say, a show or concert. 

Don’t even think about canceling if…

  • It’s an important event, like a wedding, funeral, baby shower, or other event of importance.
  • Everyone else is bailing.
  • Something better came up.
  • You’re lying to get out of it.
  • You (or the host) paid for you to be there.
  • You think you’re going to have a bad time.

What’s your excuse?

In his study on canceling plans, Chopik found the most reasonable excuses for canceling were being sick, dealing with a family emergency or childcare issue, or having a work obligation. The worst justifications were mentioning something better came up, not being interested in the activity, and straight-up lying. 

Surprisingly, participants weren’t sympathetic when someone canceled because of financial constraints. Chopik suspects the framing matters more than anything else: “I bet if you communicated that ‘I would’ve loved to go to this concert and spend time with you…but I just really can’t squeeze this right now,’ that’s a way more understanding excuse than being like, ‘That’s too expensive. I’m not going,’” he says.

The excuses themselves carry weight, but what they signal is also crucial. By telling a friend you’re bailing on them because you’d rather hang out with someone else, you’re communicating that they might not matter to you. But if you provide clarity about why you can’t make it and try to reschedule, that’s a sign you value the relationship. “If it’s just like, ‘I’m tired,’ come on, you committed already,” Givi says.

What are the consequences?

Canceling plans comes with potential fallout. Bowing out of a recurring group event isn’t likely to ruffle many feathers, but sending a “Sorry, can’t make it!” text minutes before a dinner reservation with out-of-town family members might not fly. Think about the position you’d leave the other party in, Givi says. “You could imagine it’s probably more acceptable the more time that there is before the event, the less meaningful the event, the less it’s putting them in a bind,” he says.

But recent research suggests these social consequences may be overblown. In an unpublished study, researchers found cancelers tend to overestimate how upset others are when they back out and underestimate how much canceling impacted others. “Realizing that canceled-on persons are more understanding than expected can reduce social stress,” the authors write. 

However, this isn’t permission to back out of events with abandon. If you do leave people in a tough spot — they need to cover your concert ticket, they’re scrambling to find another way to get to an event you said you’d drive to — be prepared for scorned parties to share some choice words about you behind your back. “There’s this social penalty, too, that sometimes if you bail, people aren’t crazy about that,” Givi says.

Being in a relationship with someone — friends, family, romantic partners — requires us to honor our commitments. To be there. If we fail to uphold that simple promise, the invites will inevitably dry up. Who wants to keep making plans with someone who seemingly doesn’t value them? How can a friendship blossom when you don’t see one another? 

“If you want a friendship, you have to honor those commitments and show up,” Chopik says. “You have to honor the non-important stuff.”

]]> Adam Clark Estes <![CDATA[The iPhone lease is too good to be true]]> https://www.vox.com/?p=497271 2026-08-05T12:55:50-04:00 2026-07-30T06:45:00-04:00 An orange iPhone 17 Pro lying on a wooden table.

When I first heard about the new Apple Upgrade program, which lets you lease devices like iPhones and MacBooks for a monthly fee, I was offended. It amounts to paying a tithe to one of the world’s richest companies just to borrow devices for a couple years, rather than buying them outright. You could then choose to purchase the device, which is outdated at that point, or upgrade and keep paying that monthly fee. You may never own an iPhone again.

Then, as my mind wandered to the stack of old phones in my closet, it occurred to me: What’s so great about owning these things to begin with? 

Apple, of course, would love to sell you a new iPhone for keeps. Its most advanced model, the iPhone 17 Pro Max, will set you back $1,200, a price that’s expected to rise soon due to the global shortage of storage and memory chips. You can sign up for an installment plan — most carriers offer these, as does Apple through its credit card — and pay it off in two to three years. Or you could lease the thing for $35 a month under the new Apple Upgrade program. You can pick a 12-, 24-, or 36-month lease, depending on the device, and you don’t get to keep the phone at the end of the term unless you decide to buy it by paying off the remainder of the retail price in one lump sum. (This is similar to the controversial rent-to-own model you find at places like Rent-a-Center.) 

For the financial side of the new program, Apple has partnered with none other than Klarna, the “buy now, pay later” giant. When you go to lease a new device, Klarna runs a soft credit check and decides if you’ll be able to cover the monthly payments. When I asked Klarna, the company did not tell me where it draws the line here, but it’s worth noting that critics have accused Klarna of a lack of underwriting and of lending to people with subprime credit scores. If you miss three consecutive payments, Klarna will terminate the lease agreement and possibly send a collection agency after you.

“How do I know people aren’t getting a good deal here? If they were, Apple wouldn’t be offering it.”

Aaron Perzanowski, University of Michigan law professor

While there was some speculation last week that Apple might lock people out of leased devices if they failed to pay their bill, Apple confirmed to me that it will not put limitations on device functionality due to missed payments or default. If you want to cancel the lease, you face an early termination fee. If you choose to keep paying the monthly fee, you can keep upgrading with new lease agreements for new devices every few years, existing in this cycle indefinitely.

“I don’t think people are getting a good deal here,” said Aaron Perzanowski, a law professor at the University of Michigan and author of The End of Ownership: Personal Property in the Digital Economy. “How do I know people aren’t getting a good deal here? If they were, Apple wouldn’t be offering it.” 

Buy an iPhone? In this economy? 

If you’re someone who likes to get a new iPhone or MacBook on a regular basis, Apple’s new leasing option might make a lot of sense. The monthly fee to lease these devices is cheaper than the payment plan to buy them, and electronics are depreciating assets. If you own one, you can sell it or trade it in for credit toward a new device, but they’re all worth less and less as time goes on. Furthermore, Apple eventually stops supporting old devices through software updates, so they might just stop working at a certain point. Put another way: You may own the phone, but you’re still just licensing the software that makes it work.

Renting an iPhone does sound bleak, though. The United States is suffering through an affordability crisis as prices across the board rise in the face of new tariffs and new wars. Meanwhile, AI is promising to transform the way we work if it doesn’t simply steal our jobs first, adding further insecurity, and the data center boom is making electronics more expensive. This era of economic anxiety is pushing people to use “buy now, pay later” services like Klarna and Affirm to pay for groceries or a tank of gas. (These companies faced scrutiny by state attorneys general a few years ago for operating like predatory lenders.) And now Apple, surely suspecting that many people can’t afford to pay full price for new phones, is inviting us to rent our devices at a monthly fee that undercuts the path to ownership. 

Apple could have just called this the Apple Rental program, by the way. Lease sounds nicer, though, like something you do with a car. 

“It is funny that they frame it as not a loan but as a lease,” Louis Hyman, a history professor at Johns Hopkins University and author of Debtor Nation: The History of America in Red Ink. He added that “leasing” has class implications, suggesting that you’re either someone who needs to have the newest things but can’t afford them, or that you’re so wealthy, you’re indifferent to money.

Suffice it to say, the bulk of people who will soon be leasing their iPhones are probably not the ones who are indifferent to money.

Apple adopts its final form

The new Apple Upgrade program is the company’s latest customer acquisition strategy. As the rising price of hardware has made cheaper Android devices or the refurbished market more attractive, Apple is offering upgrade enthusiasts and budget-minded users, including people who simply couldn’t afford to buy Apple products in the past, a deal to join the company’s ecosystem. After all, keeping people supplied with new iPhones and MacBooks also helps keep them subscribed to Apple services, like iCloud, which now makes the company more money than Mac, iPad, Apple Watch, and other accessories combined.

If Apple’s financial future hinges on getting more and more people to subscribe to these services, it’s only natural that the company would want to lower the barrier to entry. So Apple is betting that by letting people use but not own its products, it will extract more profit in the long run through lease payments and subscription fees. After all, it wasn’t that long ago that it seemed like nobody was interested in upgrading their iPhone, since the new phones looked so much like the old ones. Now, Apple is just trying to get everyone on autopay, effectively subscribing so that they get the latest devices when they come out.

There’s not necessarily any harm in giving people a cheaper way to access expensive but useful products. For more than a century, installment plans have enabled people to buy modern conveniences like sewing machines, radios, and eventually, televisions. Leasing is a popular way to keep yourself in a new car, sometimes with free maintenance. Meanwhile, cellular carriers have a long history of helping their customers buy phones. Nearly two decades ago, you could get an iPhone 3G for $199, thanks to subsidies from AT&T, which the company recouped in service fees over the course of your contract. Sprint and T-Mobile have even offered unlimited upgrades through leasing programs of their own in years past.

Apple previously worked with Citizen One Bank to offer loans to customers who wanted the option to upgrade their iPhones every year. The payments were higher and they included a fee for AppleCare, but every year, you could trade in your current phone for a new one. If you didn’t want to upgrade, you could simply keep paying the installments, and you’d eventually own the phone. Most carriers now give you the option to set up a payment plan to purchase a new device that simply amounts to the retail price of the gadget divided by the number of months you’ll need to pay it off, usually 24 or 36, with zero interest. That makes it easier to get your hands on an iPhone Pro Max, and if you pay it off in full, it’s yours for life — or until Apple convinces you to buy another new iPhone.

The difference between paying those monthly installments and paying a monthly lease agreement, of course, is that the former puts you on the path to ownership. The latter simply puts you on a path to make a decision: Do you want to buy the thing and recoup some of the money you’ve already spent, or do you want to keep making payments?  

“What ownership ideally gets us is independence,” Perzanowski said. “It gives us autonomy. It gives us the ability to function in the world without relying on third parties.” He went on to explain how moving from owning a product to leasing it means you’re stuck with that third party. “I’m tied to that manufacturer in a way where they get to exert a fair amount of control over my behavior,” Perzanowski said. “Historically, we’ve been primed, especially in the United States, to resist and reject that kind of control.”

One great thing about owning an iPhone or a MacBook outright is that if you lose your job to AI, you don’t have to come up with a monthly payment in order to keep using those devices to apply for new jobs. Another great thing about ownership is that should you need a couple hundred bucks, you can sell that old phone or laptop and pocket the cash. Maybe the best thing about owning these devices is that you can repair them and keep using them for many years — or at least until Apple stops supporting them. 

That doesn’t mean leasing never makes sense. If your digital life revolves around always having the newest devices and you upgrade every year or two no matter what, you might actually save money by doing so through Apple’s leasing program. If you need an iPhone or MacBook right away but can’t afford to pay full price or even cover the monthly payments on an installment plan, a one-year lease could be a good solution. 

Invariably, when you lease anything, you’re entering into a contract, one that comes with consequences if you break it. Leasing an iPhone means you’re tied not only to Apple but also to Klarna for the next 12 to 36 months. If something goes wrong — you lose your job, you lose or break your phone, or you simply don’t want the device any more — you’re subject to the terms and conditions of these big tech companies. If you keep renewing your lease, you may very well end up spending more on a phone than you would have if you’d bought it outright. That would be fine with Apple, of course. It has shareholders to please.

Correction, July 30, 1 pm: This story originally misstated how the previous Apple upgrade loan program worked; it allowed phone trade-ins every year, not every two years. 

]]> Shayla Love <![CDATA[Should you keep practicing a religion even if you don’t believe?]]> https://www.vox.com/?p=493214 2026-07-30T06:33:13-04:00 2026-07-30T06:33:00-04:00 drawing of an older hand holding a rosary with one bead as a young face
You don’t have to believe in theology to go to church. | Pete Gamlen for Vox

Hi readers! I’m Shayla Love, a science journalist and longtime fan of Your Mileage May Vary. I’m honored to be subbing for Sigal while she’s out on parental leave. I’ll be diving into your questions as a way to help understand human nature and our choices through multiple lenses: philosophical, psychological, and beyond. Please send me any emotional, body/brain, sociological, perceptual, or other kind of life quandaries you might have. 

My mother is religious, and I can tell that it brings her peace of mind to think I share some of her religious views. For this reason, I currently attend church with her on Sundays. However, I hesitate to tell her directly that I do not necessarily share her beliefs, as this would likely upset her and would not substantially improve my own quality of life. 

At the same time, attending church while knowing I do not fully believe feels somewhat disingenuous. I am unsure whether continuing this practice is the more ethical choice or whether honesty, despite its potential emotional cost, would be the better path. On the other hand, would it not be selfish to prioritize my own sense of integrity over my mother’s peace of mind, especially when the “cost” to me is relatively small: attending church once a week in order to preserve this tacit understanding? 

Dear Pew-Warmer,

Your question raises two interesting issues: whether to tell your mom that you don’t share her religious beliefs and whether to still attend church with her, even if you don’t share the faith. They might seem to be part of the same quandary, but teasing them apart a little more, we’ll see that your church attendance doesn’t necessarily require as much dishonesty as you may think. 

First, no matter what you decide, it could be helpful for you to know that you’re far from alone in managing different beliefs within a family. The amount of mixed-faith families has been steadily increasing, often because — like you — children grow up to have different beliefs from their parents. And this includes people who decide to no longer follow any prescribed religion at all. A Pew Research Center survey done in 2007, for example, found that 44 percent of Americans had changed or left the religion they were raised in. Relationships between people of different religious leanings are common now, too. A different Pew survey from 2015 found that 39 percent of couples married after 2010 identified as mixed-faith (again, including people who identify as non-religious). 

Have a question you want answered in the next Your Mileage May Vary column?

Fill out this anonymous form! Newsletter subscribers will get my column before anyone else does and their questions will be prioritized for future editions. Sign up here!

How do all of these people deal with being married or related and believing such different big things? It’s not easy. In a more recent Pew survey from 2023, more than a third of parents said it was extremely or very important that their children have the same religious views as them, which is in line with your sense that your mom would like to share her faith with you. And this is where much of your tension seems to lie. But, perhaps, I can bring you some solace by sharing that the overall data on all of this is more nuanced. I reviewed some qualitative studies — which include interviews — on religion in families to hear from people on both sides of precisely what you’re grappling with. 

In general, parents do seem to wish for their kids to have the same faith as them. As a highly religious Christian father said in one study: “How to pass our belief to our next generation is a burden to me. … We want them and their next generations to have God’s blessings.” And that makes sense, especially for a parent who belongs to a faith tradition that comes with everlasting consequences for people depending on their beliefs and behaviors. 

But, of course, religion is more than a narrow set of rules and consequences. Each contains an elaborate offering of traditions, beliefs, and values. Many very religious parents responding to the same survey said they understood it was up to their children to choose whether to continue in the tradition or not and that what truly important to them was knowing that their children shared the same values. Religion served as a proxy for that. That same 2023 Pew survey referred to earlier found that the majority of religious parents thought it was more of a priority to pass on ethics and values, as well as traits like ambition and being hardworking, than religious belief alone. 

There can even be upsides for relationships when some core beliefs differ, as one 2022 study suggested. Interfaith families — by having to accommodate multiple beliefs — have the opportunity to actually become stronger. The authors concluded that such “families are not more turbulent or problematic than other family relationships” but actually had many additional strengths, like improved communication skills. 

I won’t try to predict your mom’s response based on others’ replies in a study. Nevertheless, I think these findings suggest, at the very least, that it’s not automatic that parents cannot handle it when their children don’t follow their own faith. From the experience of these families, I suggest, if you decide to be more honest with your mom about this, you should emphasize the moral qualities you have in common — and that you plan to maintain. It could be helpful to stress that your decision is a genuine one; taking any other position wouldn’t be true to what you really feel. 

No matter the outcome of this conversation, though, your quandary about whether you should go to church at all won’t be solved. You say that it might feel disingenuous or pose a problem for your integrity to attend church services if you don’t believe. That assumes that your presence at the church is endorsing a belief in God, or in the theology of that religion, or that the latter are required for the former. 

I wasn’t raised with religion, and, instead, grew up around several atheists who worked as scientists. A few had a pretty disparaging view of the belief in God, which they saw as empirically unsound. Yet, as I got older, I began to notice some streaks of religiosity in their positions, like a dedication to the idea that science is the only tool with which to understand the world, a view that’s sometimes called “scientism.” Science is an excellent way to figure out how the world works, but there are other aspects of life — like art, music, spirituality — where it can fall short. I bring this up to say that religious thinking can rear its head even in the non-religious. And within a religious framework, you may discover non-religious elements too. A sociologist from the late 19th and early 20th century, Emile Durkheim, would push back on the idea that going to church means you believe in God, which helps me understand what I saw in my family.  

Durkheim wanted to understand how religion functioned in society. He dismissed the idea that religion, at its core, was about supernatural events and God (or gods). In his 1912 book The Elementary Forms of Religious Life, he examined Australian Indigenous religions to come up with theories about what all religions had in common. He argued that religion emerges when a group of people get together and agree upon what is sacred and what is profane, and then they act in ways that support those categories.

I’ll add that Durkheim’s views on religion have been questioned over the years. For starters, he vastly oversimplified the Indigenous religions he focused on. Yet, I think one of his central ideas — that religion is primarily an expression of agreement within social groups — is useful in making the act of your going to church less about your individual endorsement and more about participating in a group with shared values. 

Durkheim didn’t think that the concepts of “sacred” and “profane” applied only to those within organized religions; it was a more general principle in how societies were organized. Secular groups like sports fans and political parties also gathered together to perform rituals about their shared definitions of what is sacred. Following Durkheim, you could see your choice as less a theological one and more a social one. There could be plenty of values at your mom’s church that mean something to you, like community, taking care of others, and acting morally. 

Durkheim’s theory does require you to be a participant, however, in upholding these values. If that doesn’t apply to you, there is still a way to engage with those with differing beliefs with curiosity, like the psychologist William James. 

His book, The Varieties of Religious Experience, was based on a series of lectures he did at the University of Edinburgh. He was assigned to do 20 talks, and he thought he would dedicate the first 10 to describing “man’s religious appetites” and the rest on various philosophical interpretations. Instead, he became so engrossed with recounting people’s religious experiences that the subject took up all of his lectures. 

James was not a very religious man himself, and so, his thirst for learning about religion is remarkable. In the introduction to The Selected Letters of William James, the novelist and literary critic Elizabeth Hardwick wrote how James’s tolerance for “nuts and cranks, his mediums and table-tappers, his faith healers and receivers of communications from the dead” sometimes confused his peers. How could a man of science be so interested in visions and conversions? 

Like Durkheim, James wasn’t focused on whether religion was true. He had very little interest in theology itself; he fixated on the psychological — the feelings that came with being religious. 

James thought that these feelings — which we all share — were the deeper source of religion. All organized religions came later; they were emotions transformed and organized. He recognized that there were true emotions at the heart of religious conventions, and that people turned to religion to solve human concerns: melancholy, uncertainty about the future, morality, the need for community, expressions of joy. Yet, he was an outsider. He didn’t require himself to be a convert in order to be curious.

James and Durkheim have different approaches, but they both offer clues as to how to turn toward shared social values and how to be curious about others’ emotional lives while not having to commit (or pretend to commit) yourself to beliefs that you don’t have. 

You say that the cost of going to church once a week would be relatively small for you, and, so, I’ll assume that your concerns don’t include participating in a religion that is openly hostile to you or your identity. It would be difficult to participate in shared sacred-making with a group of people that places you in the “profane” category. And being curious about others is a highly generous act that, if not reciprocated, feels dismissive. I hope that by opening yourself up to your mom’s emotional life that underpins her faith, she can do the same in return, even if your own interior landscape isn’t transmuting into religious belief. And it may well be that a genuine connection is what she wants — not a false one. 

A final thought related to Durkheim: He came up with a lovely concept called “collective effervescence”: when many people have the same big feelings together, and the emotions crash together into one big collective firework of expression. To see an easy example of this, watch videos of what happens at events like World Cup matches as teams and fans celebrate big wins. This experience comes about by shared feelings of any kind. If it still feels discomfiting to go to church with your mother, perhaps you can find another way to share ecstatic emotions together and come up with a new definition of the sacred.  

Bonus: What I’m reading

  • Speaking of family, Jonathan Weiner writes in this ethereal piece in the American Scholar about how his robust memory skills compare with his brother’s patchier recollections as they both remember their father. 
  • In Harper’s Magazine, Katie Thornton tries to learn the utopian, universal language of Esperanto. 
  • And my favorite thing I read last week: an older piece of prose from the poet Elizabeth Bishop that I came across in a used bookshop in London, called “The U.S.A. School of Writing.” (It was originally published in The New Yorker.) Bishop takes a scammy job as a writing tutor over the mail and finds surprising connections with oddball students and co-workers.

This story was originally published in The Highlight, Vox’s member-exclusive magazine. To get early access to member-exclusive stories every month, join the Vox Membership program today.

]]> Allie Volpe <![CDATA[How to be a good roomie — regardless of where you are in life]]> https://www.vox.com/?p=496501 2026-07-23T09:40:12-04:00 2026-07-23T06:00:00-04:00 An illustration of two women sitting next to one another, contentedly looking at their phones

Chances are good you live with another person. Over half of American adults cohabitate with their spouse or significant other. Older adults are increasingly living with roommates. Multigenerational households have more than quadrupled over the last decade. And about a third of adults under 35 live with a parent. 

If you’ve found yourself living communally at one point or another, you know that sharing space comes with its quirks and potential headaches. Who gets to use the only bathroom first in the morning? Who’s responsible for taking out the trash? Do you actually need to be friends with your roommates? 

Being a better roommate or family member isn’t just about minimizing daily annoyance — it’s about transforming your relationships and overall well-being. According to the 2025 World Happiness Report, a household of about four members is predictive of higher happiness levels and better relationships. Older adults who cohabitate are more satisfied living with others, and have higher well-being and happiness than those who live alone, research suggests.  

Whether you live with a romantic partner, roommates, parents, grandparents, or other family members, experts (including therapists, authors, friendship experts, and researchers) — who have firsthand experience of their own — have concrete tips for how to communicate, declutter, and split finances with the people you share space with. 

Responses have been edited and condensed for clarity. 

Communicate, communicate, communicate

“I will live and die on the hill of communication being the most important aspect of successfully living with other adults. That comes from my experience living with my parents in adulthood, and from working on my anthology about communal living and interdependence. If good communication can ultimately lead to progress, any challenges that come up around logistics, habits, preferences — the things people tend to think are most important to consider when sharing space with others — can be addressed. Understanding that living with other adults doesn’t require perfect compatibility, but rather a shared willingness to work at it, opens up so many doors.”

—Samantha Paige Rosen, editor of Living, Together: Reimagining Community in the Age of Disconnection

Accept everyone’s unique (and probably wrong) ways of doing chores

“How someone loads the dishwasher is the biggest differing personalities button-pusher ever. Know this. And accept it.”

—Lauren Palmer Jansen, communications coordinator for L’Arche GWDC, a community where people with and without intellectual disabilities live and work together

Get regular meetings on the calendar

“I always recommend having a designated time — weekly, monthly — for house meetings. It feels odd initially because we believe that everything with friends should happen organically. But when you’re sharing something as sacred as a home, you have to be aligned on what creates a safe and joyful experience. This also helps with any anxiety you might feel about bringing up hard topics, like washing the dishes or inviting guests over, because you have the security of knowing that there’s dedicated time to check in.”

—Danielle Bayard Jackson, friendship educator and author of Fighting For Our Friendships: The Science and Art of Conflict and Connection in Women’s Relationships

Mark your territory

“In a shared home, peace isn’t about square footage, but it’s often helped by each person having one space that’s truly their own. That single boundary, like a door you can close, is often what makes the togetherness feel like a choice you’re happy to continue making.”

—Juli Ford, multigenerational living expert and founder of Home After 50

Discuss decluttering

“Clutter is a common household stressor, and our research suggests one reason why is that people living together buy things independently but hesitate to get rid of things independently, often over-involving each other in disposal decisions. Our proposed fix: Set disposal rules up front, the same way you might set buying rules. Let each person freely toss items only they use, or create a ‘staging area’ where items sit briefly before leaving the house. People can weigh in if they want, without letting clutter linger indefinitely.”

—Peggy Liu, professor of marketing at the University of Pittsburgh School of Business, and Theresa Kwon, assistant professor of marketing at the University of Hong Kong Business School

Agree to the “uncomfortable rule”

“Roommates who want to get along will find a way to get along. The second you stop wanting to get along, the dynamics shift. Agree to the uncomfortable rule. The uncomfortable rule says that if anyone is uncomfortable, you all agree to talk about the problem and listen. This way no one needs to hide the truth when uncomfortable situations come up. This also makes it easier to have conversations instead of confrontations.”

—Harlan Cohen, author of Win or Learn: The Naked Truth About Turning Every Rejection Into Your Ultimate Success

Divide chores equitably, not equally

“Don’t divide housework equally, divide it explicitly and equitably. In an intergenerational home, people have different amounts of time, energy, and physical capacity, so the goal isn’t identical workloads but a shared agreement everyone considers fair. Use a shared system to make the work visible. Track what gets done and by whom, then check in regularly before invisible labor turns into resentment.”

—Peter Askjær Drejer, founder of Tody, a chore managing app

Get clear about money up front

“From a financial therapist perspective, one of the biggest sources of conflict in shared living situations is the meaning people attach to money, fairness, and responsibility. Talk about expectations from the very beginning. You want to reduce the possibility of resentment forming, which can often happen if there were no conversations early on discussing what is or is not acceptable behavior and what is expected of everyone within the shared space. Most often people will wait until they’re already frustrated to discuss sharing finances or household responsibilities. But it is highly unproductive to engage in a conversation when it starts emotionally charged. Instead, schedule regular check-in conversations where you discuss not only who pays for what, but also whether the current arrangement still feels fair.” 

—Kiki Jacobson, licensed mental health counselor specializing in financial therapy

Find the good in tough situations

“My best advice is to see good intentions everywhere, even if you’re experiencing bad outcomes. For the most part, no one wants to be a bad roommate, so if someone is acting in a way that’s driving you insane, you want to approach the situation as if both of you want to fix the situation. Offer help rather than accusations. And, importantly, sometimes you can help teach others how to show up to a conversation by modeling good behavior. Sometimes people just don’t know how to have a mature, helpful conversation because they’ve never done it before. Staying regulated goes a long way.”

—Katie Rose, licensed clinical social worker

Don’t compromise, get creative

“Every recurring argument is an invitation to redesign the system rather than blame the person. Stop asking who’s right and start asking, How could we make this easier? The happiest households aren’t conflict-free — they’re creative. They develop rhythms, rituals, and agreements that work for the people actually living there rather than trying to squeeze themselves into someone else’s idea of how a household should function. One person cooks while the other cleans. Mornings become a quiet zone. Everyone gets an hour alone before reconnecting. Creativity is often a far better relationship skill than compromise.”

—Jane Garnett, licensed marriage and family therapist

Invest in a white noise machine

“Get an industrial strength white noise-maker. The app on your phone won’t cut it. It needs to be the kind you find in therapy offices so you can drown out at least some of the annoying sounds around you. Keep it on all day, not just for sleeping. Buy two if needed.”

—Mary McLaughlin, licensed clinical social worker

]]> Constance Grady <![CDATA[The surprisingly undisciplined trick to escaping social media]]> https://www.vox.com/?p=496175 2026-07-20T15:20:07-04:00 2026-07-21T08:00:00-04:00 A figure stands silhouetted in front of an open door in an illustrated yellow field.

If you’re looking to wean yourself off social media and replace it with a more productive habit — and who among us isn’t — a lot of the common advice can sound like it’s coming from a drill instructor: Go outside and touch grass. Routine is key. Get your butt in the chair and don’t get up until you’ve done the work. They might as well be telling you to do a hundred pushups while they’re at it.

Key takeaways

  • Curiosity is one of the most powerful human motivators. That’s why social media preys on it.
  • To reclaim your time, find a question that interests you.
  • Try to answer that question.
  • Let the process spark another question for you.
  • Repeat.
  • Repeat.
  • Repeat.

As valuable as that advice may be when you need a kick in the pants, these imperatives create an uneasy tension between leisure and labor. It’s all well and good to try to turn away from the siren song of your phone, but how likely are you to stick with the alternatives — reading books, drawing, meditating — if they feel like homework? 

It’s a lot more fun, and a lot less arduous, to try to beat social media at its own game instead, and harness your curiosity. 

Social media apps work in part by playing off our natural curiosity. Every time we refresh the endless scroll, they promise to give us new information, capturing the parts of our brains that always wonder what’s about to happen next. But they rarely actually satisfy that curiosity. They just repeat it endlessly: What’s going to happen when I scroll this far? Or this far? Or this far? The answer is almost always: the same thing as last time.

Away from social media, however, the world works differently. If you get curious about a question off the algorithm, it can lead you somewhere new and interesting. 

Even when we begin with a utilitarian goal, curiosity can take us in surprising directions. A few years ago, I got interested in running. At first I would just lace up my shoes, do a few perfunctory stretches, and jog straight out of my front door. But I gradually became curious about the mechanics of what I was trying to do. I began investigating running form, which led me to theories about how you should be doing different kinds of running every week. From there I learned about how strength training was important to support running, and then weight lifting led me to nutrition. I’m still not a particularly fast runner, but I am a data bank on all the ways there are for a person to make themselves just a little bit faster, and I know there’s more for me to keep looking into.

The goal here should be to get away from simple goals (running more, as in my example) to a more open and adventurous experience of what interests and engages us (understanding how I can support my body when I’m running). The experience is simple: Find something that fascinates you, learn a little more about that — whether from your friends, a documentary, or even an old-school internet search — then try to figure out what new questions that opens up and keep asking them. It’s a process that allows us to become our guides, whether we know where we’re headed or not.

In a recent essay, the writer John Paul Brammer explains that that’s exactly how he got himself to read more. 

“Curiosity is a child,” Brammer writes. “When it wants something, when it truly wants something, it’s nearly impossible to keep its hands away.” Brammer found his way to reading by getting curious about David Foster Wallace, which in turn led him to Wallace’s influences: from Donald Barthelme to Thomas Pynchon to Clarice Lispector.

“I read out of strict obedience to curiosity, the desire to know what these words in this sequence might hold,” Brammer writes. “I had to make it fun at first. This was messy. I sipped from this book, then that one. It wasn’t formal or rigorous. I read whenever I felt like it.”

Where habits are mindless and rote, curiosity is something to be indulged: It’s fun, even hedonistic. Embracing curiosity means finding ways to play with art and ideas, as if they’re clay, instead of chipping away at them, as if they’re solid stone.

“The relevant science isn’t something I’m qualified to parse,” Brammer writes in his essay. But when I looked into that very science, I found that his experience aligned with it quite well.  

“If you link curiosity to the accumulation of knowledge, you can actually self-boost your curiosity over time, with the end result of more continued interest.”

Kou Murayama, University of Tübingen

“People have likened the state of being curious about something to an aversive state,” says Celeste Kidd, an associate professor of psychology at UC Berkeley. “It’s unpleasant, akin to something like an itch. When you have that aversive state, when you really want some piece of information, it feels very satisfying to scratch it. There’s all sorts of positive feelings that come with satisfying specific curiosity.” 

The endless scroll of our phone apps can function like a hydrocortisone cream, offering a balm for the irritation without really dealing with the cause. It’s not actually scratching the itch. To do that, you have to get curious about a question that can guide you through an idiosyncratic and looping itinerary that is never fully determined in advance. 

Writer and tech designer Celine Nguyen has written about letting her curiosity guide her down rabbit holes in her essay on “research as leisure activity,” a phrase she borrowed from librarian Karly Wildenhaus. Speaking to me, Nguyen describes getting interested in the way the rise of vibe coding is affecting app design. 

“This idea around shifting design processes made me think of this art historian Claire Bishop,” Nguyen says. Bishop’s most recent book deals with the way technology changes our response to contemporary art, and Nguyen says that “after reading that, I was like, ‘I really like reading about contemporary art and performance. What else can I read in this vein?’” 

Nguyen followed her new interest in dance to a fixation on choreographer Pina Bausch, and soon found herself scouring the internet for still images from Bausch dances. 

“It’s sort of like this pleasantly fizzy, almost like ADHD brain thing,” Nguyen says. “It sort of feels like I’m wandering around this massive information landscape and I’m just coming off all these images or all these reference points or quotes that speak to me, and maybe at the end of this process I can sum up what it is I’m interested in.”

The point at which you satisfy your curiosity can be dangerous. Once the itch is gone, the desire to learn can disappear completely — even if you don’t know as much as you think. 

Kidd describes a study in which she tried to motivate people to learn a new fact about something they thought they already completely understood, but were actually wrong about.

“When we paid them to look up the right answer, they weren’t motivated to seek out more information,” she says. “They did it, but it was like they were out to lunch. They were thinking about something else. That information did not go in.” 

According to Kou Murayama, a professor of psychology at the University of Tübingen in Germany, the best way to maintain your momentum is to marshal your ephemeral curiosity into long-term interest by letting the answer to one question prompt a new one, as if you were figuring out where to eat each meal in a new city by asking your waiters where they like to eat. 

“If you link curiosity to the accumulation of knowledge, you can actually self-boost your curiosity over time, with the end result of more continued interest,” Murayama says. “Curiosity is basically short-lived, but if it’s linked to accumulating knowledge, or if you can link it to your self identity or importance, then you can self-booster interest.”

The trick is to, like Brammer and Nguyen, guide your curiosity toward a topic that can keep surprising you over time. What that usually means is to look for a topic that you already know a little bit about that can keep surprising you.

“We’ve done studies with 7-month-old babies, and they’re seeking out particular kinds of things in the world that violate their expectations, just a little bit but not too much,” Kidd says. “It tends to be the case that people want to elaborate on knowledge they already have as opposed to going into other domains. If there’s some way to relate a desired new set of expertise to something that you already have some background in, that’s a thing that you could absolutely do intentionally.”

So if you want to find some creative outlet for your time — or even if you just want to read more — there are straightforward steps to take: Look for something that excites your curiosity. Look for something that you are uncertain about, something so maddeningly unclear that you can’t help but itch at it. 

This mystery doesn’t have to be about science or philosophy. It could be about what happens to a character in a particular thriller, or how to capture a likeness in charcoal, or what a certain part of your city looks like. The point is that it should be the kind of question that you can’t let go of.

Then indulge in finding the answer — and let that question prompt another one. Then another. Then another. 

]]> Dylan Scott <![CDATA[How to protect yourself from the diarrhea-causing parasite wreaking havoc across the US]]> https://www.vox.com/?p=494977 2026-07-15T11:58:20-04:00 2026-07-15T11:45:23-04:00 a restroom sign that reads “Occupied” on a bright red background
A parasite called cyclosporiasis, which can cause explosive and watery bowel movements, has infected as many as 4,000 people in the United States this year. | Paige Vickers/Vox; Getty Images

As if we needed one more thing to worry about so soon after the hantavirus scare, there is a new public health threat for Americans to contend with: a rapidly escalating outbreak of, of all things, diarrhea.

It’s a parasite-borne illness called cyclosporiasis. It can cause explosive and watery bowel movements — and it is wreaking havoc across the United States this summer.

How bad exactly? As of July 15, Michigan’s health department is reporting 3,762 cyclosporiasis cases, up from 1,500 late last week. Forty-four people have been hospitalized as of July 9. To put that number in context, the state normally sees about 50 cases in a year. To the south, at least 364 people have been infected in Ohio. According to a USA Today compilation of state health department data, almost every state has reported at least one cyclosporiasis case this year. 

This is not our first bout with a cyclosporiasis outbreak. In 2013, the US saw more than 600 cases, and more than 500 people were sickened across the country by contaminated McDonald’s salad meals in 2018. Cyclosporiasis is caused by the parasite cyclospora, which can infect people when it is attached to fresh produce and then consumed. It does not, fortunately, spread from person to person. We do know some likely culprits: Bagged salads, basil, cilantro, peas, and berries have been linked to prior outbreaks. 

Watery diarrhea — described by public health authorities as “frequent” and “sometimes explosive” — is the most common symptom. People can also experience cramping, bloating, nausea, and vomiting. Symptoms can start anywhere between two days and two weeks after a person eats tainted food. No one has died, and thankfully, cyclosporiasis is rarely fatal. But it is an extremely unpleasant experience that could last for up to a month without treatment, and certain people, such as folks who are immunocompromised, are at higher risk of more serious complications.

There are steps that everyone can take to protect themselves from cyclosporiasis (more on that in a moment). But the current situation is challenging, because, right now, officials don’t actually know which products are causing the outbreak. “At this time, no specific produce grower, supplier, or type of produce has been identified as the source,” Laina Stebbins, a spokesperson for the Michigan Department of Health and Human Services, said in a statement to Vox on Friday. On Monday, Michigan officials said they believed lettuce or bagged salad products were to blame, but still had not identified specific brands or items that could be linked to the growing outbreak.

It’s a public health mystery, one that results from both the sneaky nature of the parasite itself and our increasingly globalized food supply. It could be a while before we learn the answer. But, in the meantime, if you’ve found yourself spooked by some of the recent headlines, here’s what you actually need to know.

Why cyclosporiasis outbreaks are so hard to trace

Cyclosporiasis makes itself hard to find. Scientists don’t know exactly how much of the parasite a person needs to be exposed to to become infected — one of many unknowns about the basic features of the bug. The foods carrying this pathogen may not be contaminated with much of it at all, which makes any preemptive testing a challenge.

And, on top of that, there can be a long gap between the parasite being introduced to the food supply and when a person actually gets sick, which further complicates any efforts to trace the outbreak’s origins. A fruit or vegetable could be contaminated in one of the various tropical or subtropical regions of the world where cyclosporiasis is more common, well before it lands in your grocery store in the United States. 

“Oftentimes when we see these outbreaks, what happens is that somewhere in the world, a contamination event occurs, and then that produce is then shipped throughout the area and it could go anywhere in the world,” Dr. Kathleen Linder, the hospital epidemiologist at the Veterans Affairs hospital in Ann Arbor, Michigan, told Vox. 

Sometimes, the source can be closer to home: A 2020 outbreak appeared to be linked to produce grown in Florida and shipped to a plant in Illinois that produced bagged salad kits. But, as if to demonstrate the difficulty of doing this work, the FDA said it could not conclusively prove those farms were the source of the outbreak.

The point is: We have a food production supply chain that sources produce and combines ingredients from all over the country and the globe — providing more opportunities for a parasite like this to find its way in.

“We’re relying more and more on produce coming from other countries so that we can have raspberries all year round,” Joseph Eisenberg, a professor of epidemiology and global public health at the University of Michigan, told Vox. “That kind of luxury only happens when we centralize our food distribution system.”

Even once an outbreak is underway, it can be hard to pinpoint the source. Symptoms may not occur for up to two weeks after a person eats contaminated food. 

“I can barely remember what I had for dinner a couple nights ago; there’s no way I’m going to be able to remember a week ago,” Linder told me. “It takes a lot of time and a lot of manpower to get all that information collected.”

As with any outbreak under the Trump administration, the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention is responding with significantly fewer workers and resources than it used to have. To be clear: This cyclosporiasis outbreak could have happened either way. This parasite has sparked widespread infections before. But Linder said that because the CDC has rolled back some of its national reporting programs, it’s been left to the states to take the lead — and that has made it harder to pull together a complete picture of the outbreak.

“It has been very hard to get updated information,” Linder said. “The information is lagging a little bit behind because it’s being done at the state level.”

What you can do to reduce your risk of cyclosporiasis

For scientists, the work ahead involves better understanding the properties of the pathogen itself and developing surveillance tools and techniques that allow us to catch contaminated food before it reaches people. But what can the rest of us do right now, during an active outbreak?

According to various public health authorities, the short version is to cook the produce that you can — heat is the absolute best option for eliminating cyclosporiasis — and to clean your raw fruits, vegetables and herbs as thoroughly as possible. 

Wash everything with running water before eating or preparing it. Scrub the firmer fruits, like melons and cucumbers, with a produce brush if you have one. If you see damaged or bruised areas on your fruit or lettuce, cut them away. Even if a food’s package says it’s prewashed, Linder said she advises people to rewash it just to be sure.

Previous outbreaks have specifically been linked to bagged lettuce and salads, so you might consider buying whole heads of lettuce instead. If you do that, cut away the outer layers and then separate the inner leaves to wash them. For green onions, you should cut away the bulby root and the outer layer and then wash them thoroughly. Raspberries were associated with one of the first US outbreaks in the 1990s, and they are particularly tricky to clean given their bumpy surfaces; you may want to consider eating them only after cooking (to prepare a jam or compote, for example) or opt for frozen raspberries for the time being. (Freezing is believed to reduce, if not completely eliminate, the parasite.) And be careful with leftovers: You should refrigerate any unused foods that you plan to eat later within two hours. 

You could also consider buying locally sourced foods, Linder said, because cyclosporiasis is more common in food sourced from other parts of the world.

If you do start to experience extreme diarrhea, make sure to hydrate very well to avoid dehydration. Linder told me that if somebody experiences dizziness, they can’t keep fluids down, or they have very dark urine, then they should seek immediate medical attention. And anybody experiencing those symptoms should get in touch with their health care providers and their local health department. 

Sooner or later, experts will probably figure out what caused the current outbreak, whether it’s one source or several. But cyclosporiasis will still be a concern in the future; it’s a byproduct of the food system we have built. It serves as a potent reminder about the importance of good food hygiene. A little extra effort to wash your food before you eat it could save you a lot of pain later.

Update, July 15, 2026, 11:45 am ET: This story, first published July 10, has been updated with current case numbers and products linked to the outbreak.

]]> Allie Volpe <![CDATA[How to keep your cool when it feels like everything is going wrong]]> https://www.vox.com/?p=495177 2026-07-15T14:30:55-04:00 2026-07-14T07:00:00-04:00 An illustration of a lion roaring.

I don’t do well with stress. Even minor inconveniences can throw me off my game, turning a mildly bad day into a complete five-alarm fire. If someone asks a single thing of me during one of these spirals, I’m likely to blow up. 

Whether you’ve woken up on the wrong side of the bed or an avalanche of calamities happens to descend upon you, it’s easy to get bogged down by negativity, to feel like a black cloud hangs over your head. Anyone who’s had a bad day can attest to how these feelings can ripple out to other aspects of your life: You’re curt with the barista and they’re rude in return; you throw your bag down forcefully at your desk and break your glass Tupperware inside; you snap at your partner and they get annoyed.

“When you’re in a bad mood, it shows up in your behavior and it shows up in your facial expressions and it shows up in your tone of voice and you might end up actually eliciting negativity from others unintentionally that way,” Ryan Martin, a psychologist who has studied anger and the author of Emotion Hacks: 50 Ways to Feel Better Fast, tells Vox.

Rather than lashing out at every unsuspecting soul who crosses your path, Martin outlines four tactics to help you defang your rage during those days when everyone at work needs something from you, your basement floods, and your best friend is mad at you.

1. Recognize that you’re crabby

When people are having a bad day, they tend to let that negativity inform how they perceive everything moving forward, Martin says. “It becomes a lens that they look through, and they start to interpret a lot of events as being negative, even neutral things,” he says. “Or they fail to recognize some of the positive things that happened along the way.”

By acknowledging I am having a bad day, you can stop the cycle of negativity and consider what concrete actions you could take to improve your mood.

2. Think about what has actually gone wrong (and what’s gone right)

One of those concrete steps is to pay attention to the things that have actually gotten under your skin and determine if they really are day-ruining, or merely inconveniences. “Part of what happens for people is when they get down…they get hung up on the things that they’re upset about, and they start to catastrophize a little bit,” Martin says. 

Be realistic and consider whether the traffic you’re in will actually cause you to lose your job, or just make you a few minutes late. (It’s entirely possible you might lose your job, and a mindset shift won’t make that less stressful!) But maybe there are other things about your day that are going well: You enjoyed your breakfast and got out the door on time. Those are worth acknowledging, too.

3. Take control where you can

On days when it seems like absolutely nothing is going your way, it can be easy to feel like bad things are happening to you in a world where you have no agency. There certainly are scenarios — say, getting a flat tire — where things are largely out of your control. But there are likely other aspects of your day where you can establish more control. Maybe it’s rescheduling a meeting and taking a walk instead. Perhaps you call a friend just to say you’re thinking of them. By doing this, you put a little space between the unpleasant events and everything else. “I like to acknowledge that those things truly are independent of each other,” Martin says. “They’re bad things that just all happened all at the same time, but it isn’t actually a pattern that is related to those things.”

Recent research has found that taking concrete steps to manage stress is effective at minimizing negative emotions and improving mental health. And these stress-management tactics don’t take a ton of time and effort either: They can look like stepping away to relax for a minute, getting a good night’s sleep, practicing gratitude, or seeking out social support. 

4. Don’t blow up

All communication skills elude me in the midst of a stressful day. Catch me at the wrong time, and I might snap. Offering a warning that you’re on edge isn’t a bad idea, but your delivery matters, Martin says. “What I don’t necessarily love is when someone essentially says, ‘Hey, I’m on the verge of a freakout,’ and then asks me to…deal with whatever mood they’re in, in a way that actually puts a lot of emotional labor on me,” he says. 

Rather than lashing out at a friend and saying, “I’m not in the mood for your jokes,” Martin suggests a softer “I’m really struggling today, just wanted you to know,” or “This day has been so awful, I’d appreciate it if you had some patience with me.”

“My take is that people are often pretty good at giving people grace when things are voiced in that way,” he says. 

Bad days, unfortunately, are inevitable. But we don’t have to make a stressful day worse. How we choose to react to stressful situations is entirely within our control. 

]]> Casper ter Kuile <![CDATA[How singing with other people can help you move through grief and despair]]> https://www.vox.com/?p=495193 2026-07-13T17:39:01-04:00 2026-07-14T06:30:00-04:00 an illustration of four friends singing while looking upward and emitting multi-colored sparkling music notes. Two of the people have teardrops on their faces.

I used to think I could change the world. 

More than that: because I could, I felt the responsibility to do it. 

I was 22 when I helped lead a delegation of young people to the United Nations. There, we pressured presidents and prime ministers to reduce carbon emissions, hoping to prevent the horrors of rising sea levels and catastrophic heat waves. Strangely, although I was immersed in the distressing climate science and the details of international policy negotiations, what I remember most from that time is my own sense of agency. If we organized, if we took action; I knew we could protect the beautiful world we loved. 

I don’t feel that so much anymore. Though I’m not yet 40, and still going through the motions of voting and donating to causes and candidates doing good, my heart has been crushed by the headlines lately. I feel defeated. Rather than believing my choices can shape the world around me, I oscillate between sadness and cynicism, numbing myself by eating a lot of chocolate cookies.

If you, too, suffer from weltschmerz, as the Germans call the despair at the state of the world — or if something else, like a death or divorce, has you feeling low — it might be time to pause on taking action and give into the grief.

Religious traditions have long centered grieving rituals amid the happier celebrations and festivals in their calendar. Entire sacred texts consist of lamentation — crying out to the divine in dismay.

Walter Brueggemann, a scholar of the Hebrew Bible, explained in 2020 that lament is not just an expression of sadness. He said, “Lament is the breaking of numbness by the admission of pain and loss.” In a culture where grief is still seen as unseemly or inconvenient and people are encouraged to “be strong” and move on quickly, this ancient wisdom teaches us that we have to cry out if we want to retrieve a sense of hope and possibility. As Brueggemann writes, “Only those who embrace the reality of death will receive the new life.”

But how do we do it? Where can we go to weep and mourn? And how do I get out of my own way? I’m pretty good at talking about the sadness and the anger and the pain; I can understand the therapeutic need to grieve. But actually doing it? Turns out, I suck at that! 

Then — just recently — a portal opened.

I’d gathered a group of friends for my monthly singing night: a chance to make music together for the joy of participation rather than performance. We sing simple rounds and folk songs, harmonizing where we can, and always close with a rousing rendition of an old shape note song in four-part harmony. After putting the foldable chairs away and clearing the wine glasses into the dishwasher, a few of us lingered behind.

Inspiration struck, and I shared my heartache about the latest horror from the White House. One by one, others started to share their pain, too. And then, Matthew, a particularly talented musical improviser, got behind the piano to sing his sadness. His voice jumped from one note to another and suddenly my eyes filled with tears and my heart filled with life. Something was shifting.

Ahlay Blakely is not surprised by this. Not at all. Blakely is a modern-day grief ritualist, songwriter, and facilitator. She sees herself as a professional mourner, hosting retreats and gatherings that help people touch their grief in tender and radical ways. 

“Singing with people is often a gateway to deeper work with grief,” she explained to me. Because so many of us have a sense that our voices aren’t good enough, singing immediately makes us vulnerable, opening us to the deeper pain we might be avoiding in our everyday lives. Singing, Blakely said, is “not about what it sounds like at all, it’s what it feels like in your body.” Blakely’s insight into the power of communal singing led her to create an entire album of grief songs with some 200 amateur singers, and that listeners like us can join in with. Its purpose is nothing less than the re-enchantment of the human soul. 

A study from 2014 shows there might be a scientific explanation for this. Musicologist Gunter Kreutz conducted an experiment with amateur choral singers in which he measured oxytocin levels across two contexts: before and after a 30-minute choir rehearsal, and before and after an informal conversation with another choir member. Remarkably, oxytocin, which is sometimes described as the “love hormone,” increased only during group singing — not during ordinary social interaction. In other words, singing enhances our well-being and connects us to others more effectively than conversation alone.

But that magic doesn’t come by moving through the grief — processing it and moving on. No, insists Blakely, “People often are trying to get over their grief. And grief is just as powerful and potent…as happiness and laughter. Are we trying to get over our laughter? Are we trying to get over our happiness?” Blakely wants us to court grief as an ally. 

Carla Fernandez, author of Renegade Grief, agrees. For her, grief is not something to overcome, but to befriend. Whatever our assumptions about falling apart, grief, she told me, “is not messy — it’s wildly fertile. When we don’t go there, we miss out on such fecundity from which real relationships can grow, and solutions can form, and ideas can emerge.” In other words, grief isn’t a dangerous can of worms, but the soil from which new life can grow. 

That’s what I felt sitting on my living room carpet as my friends and I sang together. And if you don’t have a crew to do that with yet, start by singing along to music that helps you open up to grief. Laurel Premo’s Laments is another great grieving album — or you can just make up sounds to this digital chord-creating shruti box. Remember Blakely’s advice: this isn’t about how you sound. It’s about how it feels in your body. If it feels like something is moving in your heart, keep singing.

Maybe this practice of collective singing is what we need more of in our political spaces, too. The success of the Singing Resistance in Minneapolis earlier this year was a testament to what music can do to mobilize people for collective action and bear witness to injustice in a way that keeps us hopeful and aware of the power we have to do good. Who knows — maybe singing will find its way back to cross political divides, too. One candidate in Iowa is starting every town hall by having people sing “America the Beautiful” to remind them that whatever their differences, they can create beauty together. 

Heidi Wilson, the composer of “Hold On,” which has become somewhat of an anthem in the Singing Resistance movement, puts it best. “Grief is about feeling cut off from something, losing something, and singing is an experience of reconnecting.” I think that’s what we’re all looking for now. In fact, it might be the only way forward. 

]]> Sigal Samuel <![CDATA[I care a lot about climate change. Does that mean I can never ever fly?]]> https://www.vox.com/?p=395173 2026-07-15T16:13:56-04:00 2026-07-12T08:00:00-04:00 An illustration of an annoyed woman sitting on a dark grey cloud as a dozen planes fly chaotically past her in all directions
Should we all be doing what Thunberg did?

Editor’s note, July 12, 8 am ET: We’re bringing you some of our best-loved Your Mileage May Vary columns while Sigal Samuel is on parental leave. The one below was originally published in January 2025.

This unconventional advice column offers you a unique framework for thinking through moral dilemmas. It’s based on value pluralism: the idea that each of us has multiple values that are equally valid but that often conflict with each other. Submit your own question here.

I live in an isolated part of a developed country, relatively far from anything else, and am struggling with my relationship to flying in the face of climate change. Most advice on minimizing flying seems tailored to more connected areas in the US or Europe; we have no trains or buses, and it’s a 12+ hour drive to the nearest city. I’ve considered moving to a more connected area where these would be options, but then I’d experience the same angst any time I wanted to visit my family where I currently live. 

I’ve tried to take the approach of flying less frequently and staying for longer periods of time, but I feel resentful toward the carefree way I see friends around me approaching this issue, like flying out every month to watch a game. I feel like I’m torturing myself with guilt over something that no one cares about, and that the good I do by avoiding the one roundtrip I would take on a vacation per year is erased by the behavior of my peers. 

On the other hand, the contribution my annual flight would make, in terms of global emissions and demand in the airline industry, is minuscule. I feel generally opposed to making climate change about individual actions, but flying is also something that is such a privileged action that it feels like a special case. I also feel conflicted because I don’t think I deserve to travel if I can’t do it ethically, but the strategies often proposed as alternatives are not available to me. 

Dear Resentfully Landbound, 

Your question has me thinking about Greta Thunberg. In 2019, the Swedish activist wanted to attend a climate conference in the US, but she refused to fly because of the high carbon emissions associated with air travel. So, instead, she traveled across the Atlantic by boat. On rough seas. For two weeks.

Should we all be doing what Thunberg did?

I think Thunberg is a heroic young activist, and there’s value in activists who take a purist approach, like refusing to ever fly. But the value lies less in their individual action and more in their ability to serve as a powerful jolt to our collective moral imagination — to shift the Overton window, the range of behaviors that seem possible. Thunberg’s well-publicized sailing voyage, for example, helped convince others to fly less. But to say her approach has been a potent rhetorical tool is different from saying it’s a model that every individual should follow to a tee.   

For one thing, not everyone can sail the seas for two weeks — whether because of the time required, a physical health condition, or some other factor. And it’s not clear that all people should forgo all flying. 

Have a question you want answered in the next Your Mileage May Vary column?

Fill out this anonymous form! Newsletter subscribers will get my column before anyone else does and their questions will be prioritized for future editions. Sign up here!

That’s because we each have multiple values. Yes, protecting our planet is a crucial value. So is, say, nurturing relationships with beloved family members and friends who live abroad. Or developing a career. Or learning about other cultures. Or making art. So, even though minimizing how much we fly is a virtuous thing to do, some thinkers would caution you against treating that as the only relevant value. 

Take contemporary philosopher Susan Wolf, who wrote an influential essay called “Moral Saints.” She argues that you shouldn’t actually strive to be “a person whose every action is as morally good as possible…who is as morally worthy as can be.” If you try to optimize your morality through extreme altruistic self-sacrifice, she says, you end up living a life bereft of the personal projects, relationships, and experiences that make up a life well lived. You can also end up being a crappy friend or family member.

We often think of “virtues” as being connected to morality, but Wolf’s point is that there are non-moral virtues, too — like artistic, musical, or athletic talent — and we want to cultivate those, too.

“If the moral saint is devoting all his time to feeding the hungry or healing the sick or raising money for Oxfam, then necessarily he is not reading Victorian novels, playing the oboe, or improving his backhand,” she wrote. “A life in which none of these possible aspects of character are developed may seem to be a life strangely barren.” 

In other words, it’s okay — even desirable — to devote yourself to a variety of personal priorities, rather than sacrificing everything in pursuit of moral perfection. The tricky bit is figuring out how to balance between all the priorities, which sometimes conflict with each other.

In fact, I think part of the appeal of the purist approach is that it actually makes life easier on this score. Even though it demands extreme self-sacrifice, the extreme altruist never has to ask herself how much of the luxury (in this case, flying) to allow herself. The right answer is clear: none. 

By contrast, if you’re trying to balance between different values, it’s nigh on impossible to arrive at an objectively “right” answer. That’s very uncomfortable; we like clear formulas! But I tend to agree with philosophers like Bernard Williams, who argue that it’s a fantasy to think we can import scientific objectivity into the realm of ethics. Our ethical life is just too messy and multifaceted to be captured by any single set of universally binding moral principles, any systematic moral theory. 

And, if that’s so, we have to look at how compelling we find the case for each competing value. It’s often obvious to us that we shouldn’t give equal weight to all of them. For example, I’m obsessed with snorkeling, and I’d love to be able to travel to all the top snorkeling destinations this year, from Hawaii, to the Maldives, to Indonesia. But I know I can’t justify taking infinite flights for infinite snorkeling trips during a climate emergency! 

At the same time, that doesn’t mean I won’t ever go on any trip whatsoever. I do sometimes let myself travel by air, especially if it’s for a purpose that is not only pleasurable but also essential to a life well lived, like nurturing relationships with friends and family members who live far away. And when I fly, I try to make those miles really count by staying for a longer time. 

This is basically what you’re already doing: “I’ve tried to take the approach of flying less frequently and staying for longer periods of time,” you wrote, describing “the one roundtrip I would take on a vacation per year.” I think that’s a reasonable approach, especially given the lack of trains and buses in your area.

So, even though you framed your dilemma as a question about whether or how much to fly, I don’t actually think the flying bit is your real problem. The real problem is this bit: “I feel resentful with the carefree way I see friends approaching this issue, like flying out every month to watch a game. I feel like I’m torturing myself with guilt over something that no one cares about.”

To be clear, it’s totally understandable to feel resentful; what your friends are doing does sound excessive. But the issue is that your resentment is making you miserable. And a virtuous but miserable life is not likely to be sustainable.

Some do-gooders can go to altruistic extremes without feeling resentful or judgmental. They may be able to forgo flying entirely and use that choice to create new forms of meaning and connection and to enrich other aspects of their lives so that they don’t become joyless, judgy, or one-dimensional moral optimizers of the sort Wolf described. But most of us are not in that category. And unless you are, I wouldn’t counsel you to go down the purist path, because resentment and judgmentalness can cause their own harm. They harm you. They harm the relationship between you and the targets of your judgment. And they can, ultimately, harm the cause itself because they’re off-putting to others and they make being climate-friendly seem impossibly hard. 

If you’re like most of us, a path of moderation will probably work better. You can decide on a balance that you think is reasonable — for example, one roundtrip flight per year — and stick with that. Once you’ve done that, ditch the guilt that’s torturing you. That’ll help diffuse the resentment, some of which I suspect is actually resentment toward yourself, because of how you’ve been torturing yourself. 

But that on its own might not be enough to get rid of all the resentment, because flying once annually still might feel like a big sacrifice relative to what your peers are doing. So one key intervention here is to expand your aperture, to look at what a broader group of people are doing, so that you don’t feel you’re sacrificing for the sake of “something that no one cares about.” More people care than you might think! 

A study published in Nature Communications found that 80 to 90 percent of Americans are living in a “false social reality.” They dramatically underestimate how much public support there is for climate policies. They think only 37 to 43 percent support these policies, when the real proportion of supporters is roughly double that. (And support is high across the world.) The study authors note that this misperception “poses a challenge to collective action on problems like climate change,” because it’s hard to stay motivated when you think you’re alone in caring.  

Concretely connecting with others who are choosing to fly less will help bring this home for you and make you feel that you’re part of a community that shares your values. Networks you can reach out to include Stay Grounded, We Stay on the Ground, and Flying Less. The sense of belonging and camaraderie you get from being part of such a group can help you form positive emotional associations with your reduced-flying lifestyle. You’ll feel like you’re gaining something, not just losing. 

I think that’s especially important given that resentment can actually feel good in the short term (even if it damages our well-being in the long term). Righteous indignation is a rush; it gives us an energy boost. So we can’t expect the brain to give it up just like that. We need to replace it with something else that feels good. The best candidate may be the pleasant emotion that philosophers and psychologists have identified as resentment’s exact opposite: gratitude. 

Next time you feel resentment bubbling up, go out in nature and do something you enjoy — birding, hiking, swimming — and really savor it. Pay close attention to each sound, each smell. Remind yourself that your reduced-flying lifestyle is helping to preserve this source of pleasure. In other words, it’s enabling you to get more of what you love. As you do that, I hope you’ll feel not only proud that you’re living in line with your values but also very grateful to yourself. 

Bonus: What I’m reading

  • This dilemma reminded me not just of Greta Thunberg, but also of Simone Weil, a WWII-era philosopher who died early because she starved herself, refusing to eat more than people in occupied France. She was a “moral saint” if ever there was one. And as this excellent essay in The Point magazine notes, “Weil is a saint, but many couldn’t stand her.” She’s admirable for how much she cared about others’ suffering, but is her extreme self-sacrifice actually exemplary, in the sense that we should all follow her example? I don’t think so.    
  • I also finally picked up a book that’s been on my to-read list for ages: Strangers Drowning by Larissa MacFarquhar. It does a beautiful job telling stories about extreme altruists and getting you thinking about the pros and cons of the purist path. 
  • I’m enjoying Isaiah Berlin’s essay “The Pursuit of the Ideal” in which the moral pluralist philosopher argues that there’s no one right way to live, whether on the individual or state level. “Utopias have their value,” Berlin writes, since “nothing so wonderfully expands the imaginative horizons of human potentialities — but as guides to conduct they can prove literally fatal.”  
]]>