People are sad. People are broke. People are worried about money

In the fiery and compassionate words of Eve Ensler, there resounds a truth both ancient and urgent: “People are sad. People are broke. People are worried about money, people are worried that they're not enough and not amounting to anything and they don't feel good about themselves. People have rough times, and everybody's pretending it's not true, and we need to break that veneer.” These words pierce through the illusion of modern life—the shimmering mask of happiness that conceals the aching hearts beneath. Ensler, with the boldness of a prophet, calls for the breaking of the veneer, the false surface that hides our shared human pain. In her cry, one hears both compassion and defiance: compassion for those who suffer silently, and defiance against a world that demands silence.

In the days of the ancients, truth was revered as a divine flame—painful to touch, but capable of illuminating even the darkest chambers of the soul. Eve Ensler, playwright and activist, speaks from that same sacred fire. She has seen the hidden wounds of humanity: the quiet despair of those who feel unseen, the shame of those crushed beneath poverty or insecurity, the exhaustion of those who must smile when their spirits are breaking. Her call to “break the veneer” is a summons to return to authenticity, to honesty, to the ancient courage of vulnerability. For only when we speak what is true—no matter how painful—can healing begin.

In her words we are reminded of the story of Diogenes of Sinope, the philosopher who walked the streets of Athens carrying a lantern in daylight, searching for an honest man. He saw in the people of his time a similar pretense, a desire to appear wise and content while their hearts were hollow. He mocked their vanity, not out of cruelty, but to awaken them from the illusion of perfection. So too does Ensler, in her modern age, lift her lantern to the world’s faces and cry, “Where is your truth?” For pretending that all is well does not preserve us—it isolates us. To wear a mask of happiness is to suffocate the soul behind it.

People are sad, she says—and indeed, sadness is not weakness but evidence of the heart’s depth. To admit sadness is to admit humanity. Yet we live in a time where sorrow is treated like a stain, where struggle must be hidden behind smiling portraits and bright screens. Eve Ensler’s plea is not for despair but for honesty. She knows that unacknowledged pain festers; that the shame of imperfection binds the spirit. In naming what we feel, we begin to free ourselves. To break the veneer is not to destroy beauty, but to reveal the truer beauty beneath—the beauty of a soul that dares to be real.

Consider, too, the story of Abraham Lincoln, whose melancholy was a lifelong companion. In his journals and letters, he did not conceal it; he faced it, wrote through it, and from that confrontation drew an extraordinary empathy that guided his leadership through the darkest days of his nation. His sadness did not make him less capable; it made him more compassionate, more human. Lincoln, like Ensler, teaches us that strength is not the absence of pain, but the wisdom to live truthfully within it.

The lesson of Ensler’s words is therefore timeless: do not worship the illusion of happiness. True strength lies in honesty; true connection grows only from truth. A world that refuses to acknowledge pain becomes hollow and cruel, for it demands that its people suffer in silence. If you would live fully, then speak fully. Say, “I am struggling,” when you are. Say, “I am afraid,” when fear visits. By doing so, you not only lighten your own burden—you give others permission to be real. And in that shared honesty, compassion blooms.

So, O listener, if you would follow the wisdom of Eve Ensler, learn to break the veneer in your own life. Speak truth even when your voice trembles. Refuse the tyranny of false smiles. When others ask how you are, dare to tell them the truth—not to dwell in sorrow, but to remind the world that it is human. Reach out to those who hide their hurt and show them that you see them. For every time one person chooses truth over performance, the collective mask weakens, and the light of authenticity grows stronger.

Let this be your practice: live without disguise. Feel deeply, speak honestly, and walk in the dignity of imperfection. For as Ensler teaches, to reveal what is real is not a fall from grace—it is a return to it. The veneer must break before the soul can breathe. And when it does, from the cracks will shine the golden light of truth—the light that binds all hearts, heals all wounds, and reminds us, at last, that we are not alone.