Author John Green Stops By the Wharton School to Talk about Life, Creativity and Compassion
What’s your favorite novel by author and YouTuber John Green? Looking for Alaska? Turtles All the Way Down? An Abundance of Katherines? Or maybe The Fault in Our Stars, one of the best-selling books ever? Green’s books, with more than 50 million copies in print worldwide, often feature young adult characters and explore themes like love, loss and identity.
His latest non-fiction work, Everything Is Tuberculosis, focuses on the world’s deadliest disease, which has existed for millennia without a cure because, Green believes, “We simply have systems that don’t value all human lives equally.”
It was the jumping-off point for Green’s intimate conversation in March 2025 with Adam Grant, a professor at the Wharton School of the University of Pennsylvania and an organizational psychologist who hosts the Authors@Wharton series.
Grant praised Green’s latest work as “beautifully written” and said that he felt “a tremendous amount of moral outrage reading this book, because it seems wrong that over a million people are going to die from this disease and we know exactly what we can do to save them, and it’s not happening.”
Beyond Books
More than an exploration of stellar writing, Grant’s Authors@Wharton conversation with Green was a celebration of life — weaving together themes of collaboration, activism, perseverance in the face of adversity, and following your passion.
Said Green: “We are incredibly rare and precious, and every single one of us is amazing, worthy of all of the care in the world, and deserving of loving and being understood. The point of life is to be here with each other in true solidarity and trying to ease each other’s journeys.”
Here are some powerful themes and John Greenisms that emerged from the conversation, which took place in the Penn Museum:
- Mental health and self-acceptance. John Green’s candid discussion about living with OCD and depression showed that success is possible while managing mental health challenges. “I’ve lived with very serious illness for most of my adult life, and yet I also have a really wonderful life. And those things aren’t mutually exclusive at all. Obviously, you have to treat your chronic illness like a chronic illness, and there are times when it’s disabling and debilitating, and that’s very frustrating. And I wish that I could have the kind of wildly productive life that always seems to me just out of reach. But I have a really wonderful life and I have a serious mental illness. They’re both true at the same time.”
- Valuing creativity from within. Green’s advice to “just start” and be willing to be bad at something new was a reminder to pursue your passion without fear of perfection. “You have to find value in making the thing. That’s true whether it’s creative work or a marketing campaign, because you have to find a little bit of the intrinsic value in doing the work. Otherwise, you become entirely reliant upon exterior feedback and validation. If you’re only looking for external validation, my experience is it will never be enough. There will always be a hole inside of you that all the validation in the world simply cannot fill. That has to come from within. You have to find meaning in the making of the thing, not just meaning in the way the thing is received.”
- Social justice and systemic change. Green’s deep research into tuberculosis and global health inequities for his book has fueled his activism in the face of injustices. “My brother had cancer, and it cost about 150 times more to cure my brother’s cancer than it cost to cure Henry’s tuberculosis [the main character in his latest book]. At no point did anyone say to my brother, ‘I’m just not sure this is cost-effective. We have a better use of resources.’ They offered him the kind of personalized, tailored treatment that all of us would expect and that all of us deserve. I think about that a lot in the context of tuberculosis survivors, because it’s a similarly hard disease to cure… but it’s very curable. And the short answer to why we don’t cure it is that we simply have systems that don’t value all human lives equally.”
- Sometimes careers are built on unexpected opportunities. Green pivoted often in his career, from student chaplain to novelist, to blogger, to YouTube educator, to non-fiction writer, to activist. His non-linear path shows that there’s no single “right” way to build a career – and he also believes in the power of creativity. “I think just starting something is the hardest thing. Just start and be bad… Regular people engage in all kinds of creative work, and they do it in all sorts of different ways. They may not do it as their entire living. It may be a side hustle, it may be a passion project, it may be something that you choose not to monetize, but regular people do creative work in all sorts of ways. And if there’s one thing that you take from listening to me, I hope that it’s if that doofus can do it, why can’t I?”
- Shared projects (with siblings!) can enrich your life. Success does not have to be a solitary pursuit; in fact, Green encourages collaboration — which, in his case, has often involved his brother, Hank Green. In 2012, the two began producing educational video content with the YouTube channels Crash Course and SciShow and have continued their partnership. “Make stuff together. You don’t have to make it for anybody else…Do a carpentry project together. When you visit each other, do a jigsaw puzzle together…My brother is my closest collaborator. He is my oldest friend. He is one of the dearest people in my life. That is such a blessing, and it is so rare. In adulthood, it’s very difficult to remain close to your siblings… Hank is the most amazing person I’ve ever known. I really am the tail to Hank Green’s comet. That’s been my role ever since we started working together, because he’s so relentless. He has so much more energy than I do, and being the tail to his comet is a great privilege.”
Conversation Starters
Are you a John Green fan? Which of his books is your favorite? Did you learn something new in this interview about the author? What surprised you and why?
John Green believes that we have health care systems worldwide that “don’t value all human lives equally.” What does he mean by this? Do you agree or disagree? How might you confront this issue?
John Green encourages all of us to “make stuff together.” Do you collaborate creatively and entrepreneurially with someone who is close to you — a parent, friend or sibling? Share your story in the comment section of this article.
Hero image photo shot by: Larissa Inex, Pexels.com
I recently became a John Green fan after reading (and loving) his novel, Turtles All the Way Down, and I am now starting one of his more recent works, An Abundance of Katherines. While I was initially surprised to learn that he suffered from depression, as his novels employ a comical tone (while also dealing with serious themes), I realize now that he has written characters with similar mental illnesses as him (like Aza Holmes, who suffers from OCD, in Turtles All the Way Down), which both raises awareness on these issues and helps other people who suffer from the same problems relate to others and feel less alone.
While reading about John Green’s new book, Everything is Tuberculosis, what truly resonated with me was his statement that we don’t value all human lives equally. Although most of us enjoy putting on a facade of benevolence and compassion, we offer help selectively and intentionally, to those who we are familiar with and deem “worthy” based on prejudice. For example, while sharing his own experience with his brother’s cancer treatment, Green recalls that while his brother’s medical care was much more costly than that of a tuberculosis patient like Henry, no one ever questioned the cost-efficiency of his treatment. However, patients living in poverty who suffer from diseases that might be cheaper and easier to cure often do not receive the same treatment (or treatment at all) since they are viewed as lower class and less deserving of care than their wealthier counterparts. Thus, the issue does not lie simply in the medical system but within society as a whole, that poverty itself is viewed as an incurable disease, and those who fall victim to it cannot be helped and must be left to struggle and eventually meet their fate. This then leads to the true question: is poverty really an untreatable disease, or is it just a symptom, worsened by the plague of egocentrism in society?
To solve this complex issue, I believe changes must be made in institutions, a major one being the healthcare system. One of the biggest changes that I think needs to be made is universal healthcare: in many countries (especially European countries), health care systems are state-funded and much more need-blind than in the United States, physical status taking priority above financial status. While putting in place such a major change would certainly cause conflict and disagreement, I believe it is vital to instill not only equal care for all but values of justice and compassion within society.
Radina, your reflection shook me. The question — “Is poverty really an untreatable disease, or just a symptom, worsened by the plague of egocentrism?” — might be the most hauntingly accurate summary of systemic neglect I’ve read in a long time.
John Green’s story about his brother and Henry doesn’t just illustrate disparity in access to care — it unmasks a deeper societal algorithm: we assign value to lives based on proximity, status, and convenience. And it’s terrifying how normal that’s become.
Your idea that poverty is perceived as fate, not failure of design, really resonates. We don’t question the structure. We question the worth of those who fall through it.
You also pointed to something subtle but vital: that real change needs not just policy shifts, like universal healthcare, but a moral rewiring. Because egocentrism isn’t just an individual flaw — it’s embedded in the very logic of institutions. And unless we challenge that logic, “compassion” will remain performative, selective, and marketable — not universal.
Thank you for articulating this so clearly. You didn’t just respond to John Green — you extended his challenge to all of us.
John Green’s novels speak to everyone, his writing inspires and gives people something to relate to. I have been inspired by numerous John Green books, most notably “Paper Towns.” This book is one of self discovery and embracing imperfections. With reading this article, I see how relevant these themes of the book are with his advice mentioned in the article. In this article John Green tells readers to accept themselves for who they are and to also find meaning in your creations. Even though Green has books that mainly focus on mental health challenges in everyday life (like Turtles All The Way Down), his advice is for everyone no matter what’s going on in their life. Everyone should be able to find true meaning in their creations like Green has. You need to create something to inspire, you need to create something that you can be proud of, and most importantly, you need to find meaning in the actual process of creating. For example, let’s say you are writing a comment like this one. Why are you writing it? What are you learning from this process? Well for me, I’m writing this comment because I feel as though the amount of inspiration and real life advice that stems from Green and his writing needs to be brought to attention. Also, from this process I’m learning that the best way to get your voice heard, is to go out and get your voice heard. Okay, I know that sounds a bit obvious, but I mean to go out and do something. If you want to advocate, advocate. John Green has advocated for various diseases and mental illnesses, and now he has written tons of books that have given people comfort and strength. I, myself , struggle with various mental health challenges and when I first read “Turtles All The Way Down” I felt like John Green was in my head. I want to inspire and advocate like John Green has for years. I found meaning in the creation of this comment through just really thinking about the factors that brought me to sitting down and writing this. One, not really complex, factor is that I saw John Green’s name and wanted to see what this article was about. I now know. It’s an article full of inspiration, no matter who you are you can take his advice and implement it into your every day life.
Green’s genuine advice to “just start” is extremely relatable and I can see parallels to my own experiences.
I’ve never found pleasure in being a goalie or an outfielder. As a kid, I dreaded slipping on my cleats and I whined about practicing. I was the one who crossed my fingers whenever it started drizzling, praying for a game cancellation. In contrast, my friends would rush off to practice after school. I felt unathletic and out of place. I carried that attitude into high school, feeling hesitant and closed off to the sports world.
But out of curiosity I started cross country. At the first practice, I was quickly humbled. The varsity girls pushed the pace, immediately disappearing into the distance. The only indication they had been there was a gust of wind. I felt mediocre as the sun beat down and my pace slowed. The sweat dripping down my face seemed to mimic how my self-confidence was melting. I made up my mind that I would not be coming back. Then, my coach delivered an inspirational speech voicing that our team is special because we do things that are hard. If it was easy, then everyone would do it. I knew he was right. They said we had to “embrace the suck.”
So that’s exactly what I did. By the end of the season, I was grateful to have found a sport that mattered so much to me and became such an integral part of my life. I learned to appreciate all the imperfect moments. The treacherous hill workouts, sore legs, and sweltering summer practices served as a reminder to persevere. It was in these moments where I ran and improved for myself. I found satisfaction in my progress, no matter how small.
John Green points out that perfection is exactly like it sounds: unreachable. Striving for perfection won’t bring happiness. It will only bring disappointment. You have to let yourself be human and grow by taking that first step.
Alyssa, your story about showing up to that first cross country practice and feeling completely out of your league? Yeah… been there. Except my version looked more like me flailing with panic through figure skating, tripping over the ball during soccer drills, launching into the water on just the second obstacle of American Ninja Warrior Junior (yes, on national TV), and realizing rock climbing is fun until your arms give up mid-wall. I’ve basically tried every sport out there. But none of them clicked – until I found dance.
Dance, especially hip hop, finally felt like me. Not because I was perfect at it (trust me, I wasn’t), but because I could mess up, freestyle it, and still find meaning in it. What your coach said about “embracing the suck” is so real. Whether it’s running miles in the sun or learning to body roll in front of a mirror, I’ve learned that showing up when it’s uncomfortable is where all the growth happens.
That same idea shows up in my work, too. After I gave a well-crafted presentation in Spanish class, my teacher jokingly asked if I could file her taxes. It made everyone laugh, but the comment stuck with me because behind the joke was a real truth: most people, even adults, feel lost when it comes to money.
With my passion for both finance and dance, I started organizing financial literacy and career readiness workshops for other youth. I realized that helping people build these skills early on can set them up for long-term success. Over the past year, I’ve taught more than 1,400 students. More recently, I’ve started leading workshops that combine financial education with movement and dance, specifically designed for dancers from underresourced areas who often face the greatest barriers to financial access and education.
And guess what? Those kids don’t remember if my slideshow presentation crashed or if I stumbled over an 8-count of choreography. They remember if they felt something, like if they felt heard, empowered, and like they left with new skills. And like your coach said, if it were easy, everyone would do it. Sometimes being the youngest person in the room at a business meeting or networking event to share my work is scary, but I remind myself that perfection isn’t the goal, progress is.
Also, shoutout to John Green for shaping my early academic life. I’ve watched Crash Course for social studies, English, and history. And if there’s one thing I’ve learned from years of hearing him say, “Let’s go back to the thought bubble,” it’s that the people who make the biggest impact aren’t the ones who wait until they’re ready. They’re the ones who start and have that initiative within them to spark change. Even if they’re scared. Even if they’re bad at first.
So yeah, I loved reading your comment, because it reminded me that none of us find our thing right away. But once we do? We run with it.
If I’m being honest, I think that one of the biggest issues with youth today is the lack of a good level of awareness for problems that are so common today. John Green takes these problems and transforms them into something that can be experienced by a reader in a way that’s more personal and real. His books offer a window into a life that many of us never have and potentially never will experience. For instance, cancer. I know that for me, I can fail to remember the absolutely devastating importance that cancer has in so many people lives. It’s both embarrassing and terrible, but it’s true. It become something that seems distant and eventually almost unimportant, even though I know that it’s something that is so deeply important and affects so many people today. However, with his book The Fault in Our Stars, John Green reached through the pages of the book, grabbed my hand, and took me right into the life of someone who experiences cancer, and loses the love of her life to the disease as well. Cancer became something I could see up close, even through the limited lens of a book – something poignant, incredibly important, and deeply devastating. It offered a close up perspective that I’d never been able to experience in real life, and brought a sense of more realness to the issue of cancer. Another example can be seen through his book Turtles All the Way Down, which addresses the struggles of OCD and the anxiety that comes with it. As someone who struggles with anxiety, I was shocked by how John Green perfectly encapsulated the spiral and grip that anxiety has on people. I feel like anxiety is another thing that the significance of has been watered down due to the large capacity in which it occurs nowadays. It’s important, of course, but to those who don’t directly struggle with it, it seems very far-off and hard to sympathize with. As Green mentioned in this article, one of his goals in writing is to bring awareness to different topics, like mental health struggles that he himself faced in his own life. Turtles All the Way Down did an extraordinary job addressing the struggles of anxiety in a shockingly accurate way that can be both relatable and eye-opening. And ultimately, that’s what John Green does so well in his writing and what makes his books so important – they magnify the importance in common issues, offering a perspective shift and insight that is incredibly necessary in order to gain more deeper awareness about struggles that so many people face today.
Hey Kate,
I really appreciate the lens you took in writing this comment. It made me reflect deeply on my own experiences. You’re so right. Just a few months ago, the type of person you outline in your first sentence was me.
Cancer has always been something I’d hear in adult conversations, movies, and something that only seemed to happen to other people because it was never truly present in my life. That is, until late March when I had the most heart wrenching conversation of my life. Seated at the dinner table almost midnight, I sat there confused looking at the strongest person I know completely silent with bloated red eyes. She’d always been asleep before midnight so I was confused why she was still up but I said nothing and waited for her to start speaking.
She told me not to cry and listen carefully in her shaking voice, “엄마가 지금 좀 아프.” (Mom is a little sick). Before she could even finish her sentence, it was almost as if I’d known what would come next that I’d broken down even before she could finish. Someone who had never smoked a cigarette a day in her life was diagnosed with lung cancer?
Something that has always felt so distant now felt like it had struck down the pillars of my foundation, home, and family in a blink of an eye. Guilt trickled all over me because I could only imagine how much she was struggling on her own while I was too busy and focused on worrying about my upcoming midterms.
While one of the closest people to me is enduring this fight right now, I will never be able to walk in her shoes. But, I can be aware. Cancer is real. Treatment is hard. She is strong.
As someone who experienced cancer happen to someone I love, it truly opened up my eyes to the silent struggles that so many people, all over the world are fighting. Those that you’ll never meet in your life, and those that may be sitting right next to you on the MTA bus on your commute back home. We really don’t know and we tend to overlook big issues that don’t seem to affect us, till it really does. “The point of life is to be here with each other in true solidarity and trying to ease each other’s journeys.” So show compassion. Be empathetic to those you can see are struggling and even those that you can’t. Cliche, but these small gestures can mean so much.
Since the 6th grade, I’ve been an avid reader of John Green, starting my journey off with Looking for Alaska, the Abundance of Katherines, and later on with his Crash Course videos that got me through AP United States History to say the least. Being able to see such a human side of him through this article where he becomes vulnerable about his mental health struggles validates the way that so many high school students like myself can feel. While I’ve been blessed to have a secure support system, he made me reflect on the notion that enjoying life and having mental illness or sickness doesn’t have to be mutually exclusive. Said Green, “But I have a really wonderful life and I have a serious mental illness. They’re both true at the same time.” I see this again and again in a fight through cancer that I witness. Despite her physical and mental struggle through her treatment, she has never failed to put a smile on her face, stay thankful, make home meals for her family when she can, and go out on shopping trips with her daughters. This is the kind of strength I aspire to have.
I want to discuss John Green’s perspective on the game of Marco Polo and its influence on his life. This perspective is not the only powerful theme and John Greenisms that emerged from the conversation in the article, but also what separates John Green from other successful people. Let me explain. A human’s primary sense is vision. However, in Marco Polo, this sense is lacking. Therefore, the player must use their other senses to “win” the game. I believe this concept is what John Green was trying to convey. Creativity doesn’t come from what you use most, but from the potential of what you don’t use.
My biggest inspiration has always been my grandmother: she raised two children all by herself, battled skin cancer, yet still rises every morning with strength and dignity. At first, I thought that she was a superhuman, but I soon realized that she was battling her inner demons like the rest of us. This realization struck me when I spent the holidays with her: as my family was picking her up from the airport, she immediately hugged me, but I felt a rough scrape on my back. When I leaned back, I glanced at her hands—her palms were badly bruised. I found out later that she had OCD, so compulsive that she washed her hands over twenty times daily, hence the bruising. But I never suspected this, as she continues going on with her daily routine with a smiling face. Even in our own family, her suffering is often overlooked due to her external demeanor.
Her story reflects a much broader societal issue—how we treat mental health as invisible unless it disrupts productivity.
This is a message John Green sheds light on when discussing the primary messages of his new novel as well as the societal flaws. Green does not shy away from discussing his OCD and depression, reminding us that emotional suffering can be hidden behind achievement and that society does not always recognize suffering unless it is outwardly evident. Although Green is still able to write despite his conditions, many crumble under their emotional struggles and lose sight of their passion. This is particularly common among teenagers: a study from Johns Hopkins School of Public Health notes that anxiety, depression, suicidal thoughts, and other “internalizing” problems account for an increasing share of the adolescent mental health burden. Specifically, what is more pressing is that much of this issue does not come from chronic deep-rooted personal challenges, but rather societal pressures that teenagers crumble under. According to a survey from Pew Research Center, six-in-ten teens feel pressure to excel academically, while three-in-ten teens report a lot of pressure to look good and fit in socially. These, along with many other unrealistic standards encouraged by the rampant presence of social media, are increasingly detrimental to the well-being of today’s youth and future generations. Green emphasizes the importance of recognizing and validating mental health struggles—even when they aren’t outwardly visible. As a society, we must learn to acknowledge that someone’s ability to function does not negate the severity of their internal battles to restore the mental health of youth amidst an increasingly stressful and complicated world.
Building on this theme of hidden struggle and societal pressure, Green emphasizes the importance of relinquishing perfectionism by simply embracing the act of doing what you love.
In today’s society, we are defined by numbers–our income, GPA, rank, test scores, and even follower count–reducing our worth to metrics that fail to capture our depth and complexity. We are always trying to chase the next step, whether it is a promotion, a higher status, a better score, or a faster time. However, this does not leave room for people who cannot achieve such standards. There will always be someone better than us, something to chase. But when does it end, when can we stop running?
What happened to simply living—just existing without constantly striving for more? Finding joy in a breath of fresh air as you step outside. Savoring the feeling of a cold glass of water late at night, as it hits your throat and soothes your insides. Discovering a new song that gives you a rush of serotonin. Somewhere along the way, we stopped appreciating the simple things and started chasing “better,” “stronger,” “smarter”—always reaching, rarely content.
Today’s society fixates on a sense of accomplishment and admires those who seemingly “do it all” and present their work perfectly. Imperfections are viewed as weaknesses, which is extremely detrimental to the evolution of creativity and art. However, there is an intrinsic charm in imperfection; it’s what makes us human. We need to change our mindsets and find the beauty in everything we produce; even when the outcome falls short of self-imposed standards, the process behind it often holds a profound meaning.
Treya, your comment felt like a quiet mirror held to the noise of this world — thank you for that.
The image of your grandmother’s bruised palms was heartbreaking. But what struck me more was your line: “Even in our own family, her suffering is often overlooked due to her external demeanor.” That’s the paradox, isn’t it? When people hold themselves together too well, we assume there’s nothing to hold.
What you captured so clearly — and what John Green echoes — is that emotional pain is often invisible until it dares to interrupt productivity. And in a world obsessed with deliverables and optics, that pain is too easy to miss, dismiss, or commodify.
You also challenged a much deeper societal script — the one that ties worth to metrics: GPAs, ranks, likes, resumes. We’ve come to fear stillness because it doesn’t “convert.” But like you said so beautifully, when do we stop running?
I think Green’s work, and your reflection here, offer a kind of answer: We stop when we choose to see, even without being told. When we honor quiet struggles, imperfect outcomes, and the act of being — not just achieving.
This comment may not win anything. But in writing it, I remembered what it feels like to sit still, to think, and to feel something true.
Thank you, Treya.
John Green’s trip to Wharton delivers far more than literary analysis—it demonstrates how the arts of creativity and empathy are at the heart of business leadership. It’s a strong reminder that there is great power in storytelling to influence organizational culture and brand values as much as there is for novels.
His comment about “connecting with vulnerability” truly resonated. During my AWS and Python learning journey, I’ve noticed how data without narratives doesn’t move individuals. To illustrate, during my analytics training, I built an SMS data dashboard for a non-profit but saw real traction only after I introduced a layer of individual stories—quantitative figures and qualitative voices in combination spurred donor involvement.
When Green defined how fiction generates shared imagination, I couldn’t help but relate team-building in startups: company vision isn’t sold via KPI reports—it’s formed via motivational narratives that enable new members to see their role in the greater mission. It’s the difference between “we made 200 sales” and “we provided 200 families with access to clean energy.”.
I also liked his remark that creativity is not individual—it often emerges from community. Watching how marketing feedback shifted design logic at Powtoon also made me learn that creativity thrives in feedback loops—collaboratively, not individually.
My question: How do student leaders build culture by design with storytelling scaffolds—whether in project teams, non-profits, or startups—so that numbers and empathy coexist? For instance, can we append each major report with a user story, just like businesses now develop “case-study dashboards” to humanize numbers?
Thanks, John, for reminding us that future business is not only analytical and human. If we can use story and data together, we have the ability to lead not just with insight—but with meaning.
John Green’s perspective on valuing human lives within our healthcare systems is eye-opening. It’s frustrating to think that a disease like tuberculosis, which is highly curable, doesn’t receive the same investment and attention as more visible health issues.
I appreciate how he emphasizes the importance of creativity and collaboration in our lives. His relationship with Hank and their shared projects highlight the joy and enrichment that can come from working together. It inspires me to think about my own collaborative efforts and how I can promote creativity with those close to me.
Even though I haven’t read any of Green’s novels, I find his journey through mental health challenges and his advocacy for social justice incredibly relatable and motivating, as I’ve seen it on social media. It pushes me to reflect on how we can create a more equitable world and advocate for change.
I was especially moved by John Green’s emphasis on shared projects and his idea that “[s]uccess does not have to be a solitary pursuit.” In particular, what I especially admire about Green’s philosophy is how he sees shared creativity as a way to show love, an ethic built by his years of hosting the Crash Course educational channel with his brother. His creative endeavors with his brother, Hank Green, remind me of my own projects with my sister, who, while two years older, is my closest friend and even shares the same birthdate as me. For example, when he talked about building puzzles with his brother, it reminded me of how my sister and I would spend hours piecing together puzzles during our childhood. At that time, due to my young age, I didn’t appreciate this for what it truly was: an opportunity to connect with my sister. However, now that we are older and lack free time, I look back and miss how we would squabble about where each piece belonged, how she would always be right, and how we would laugh about it afterward. Even so, recently, for my birthday, I received a 1000-piece puzzle as a birthday present and have been saving it, eagerly waiting for the opportunity to complete it with her.
Moreover, Green’s advice to “just start” is one that I have lived my life by. For example, when I entered high school, I decided on a whim to learn how to play the guitar, despite having virtually zero experience with any instruments aside from the recorder from elementary school. Just as Green talks about devaluing external validation, I had to learn how to play purely for the fun of it. My first performances to my sister’s jury of stuffed animals were terrible, and always left my ears and fingers sore. However, just like Green believes that creativity does not have to be polished, I continued playing music on my sister’s off-key guitar until this year, I finally progressed to the point of being able to play at my volunteer group’s talent show, raising over $350.
Lastly, the Crash Course YouTube channel has been mainstay of my education, from the fourth grade, when I stumbled across it on my cousin’s iPad and learned about early human migration from Africa to late nights in my junior year of high school spent cramming the Stamp Act, the Northwest Ordinance, and the Boston Tea Party. It is almost surreal to think about how the cheerful person who first taught me to love learning could be battling OCD, anxiety, and other major health issues, but now I am grateful not just for the Green brothers’ health, but also for the academic and life lessons they have taught me.
After reading this piece about John Green’s take on life, creativity, and compassion, I couldn’t help but flashback to the first time I met him—through my earbuds on a long drive. “Auld Lang Syne,” episode 23 of The Anthropocene Reviewed, seemed ordinary at first—until it blindsided me. I never expected to cry before tapping play.
With a calm, unflinching voice, John spoke candidly about human loss. He insisted that hope persists even when grief feels endless, using the song “Auld Lang Syne” as an overarching narrative device to illustrate this point. In a few vivid strokes, he sketched the song’s path, from Robert Burns to the World War I trenches; along the way, he reminded us that every life holds equal weight, urging us to act always with a spirit of humanity and with the goal of making the world a better place for all of us.
In many ways, this article echoes the ideas present in “Auld Lang Syne.” As in the podcast, in this article, John leaves no room for institutions that treat people as statistics, demanding the creation of systems of care that ensure the dignity and livelihood of all. He talks about the joy of spending time with people close to oneself, in his case, his brother Hank. He opens up about his personal mental struggles and eventual self-acceptance, letting others breathe easier in their own struggles. He reminds us that creativity starts messily, but that it will all work out in the end: progress, like every other aspect of life, begins unruly but finds its shape through persistence.
Reading John’s work, I always experience an ineffable sense of hope, as if I had reached the end of a dark and oppressive tunnel, seeing the light in the distance. At the end of “Auld Lang Syne,” John urges us to join the old refrain of “Auld Lang Syne,” the same lines soldiers once sang to steady themselves in the mud and darkness of World War I:
“We’re here,
because we’re here,
because we’re here,
because we’re here…”
John advocates a hard truth, both through his stories and his public appearances: every life matters equally, though our systems seldom act as if they believe it. Tuberculosis still affects a million people a year, largely because many of the people affected are poor, distant, or simply unseen. Such changes require more than individual kindness; they call for a change in perspective, seeing global health as a shared duty.
So, when the chorus returns—
“We’re here,
because we’re here,
because we’re here,
because we’re here…”
—let us all sing it as a promise. We are still here, breathing, and capable of building something kinder. Yes, change requires more than individual kindness, although kindness lights the match. John’s work is important. It has inspired people like me to make the lanterns that light up the tunnel, the lanterns that make the tunnel’s exit feel like dawn, the lanterns that guide those who are cold, wet, and shivering out of the tunnel, into a morning that belongs to everyone.
Give “Auld Lang Syne” a listen when you can; it is worth 20 minutes.
Fangyuan, your words reminded me that sometimes, a comment isn’t just a reply — it’s a place to rest.
You brought John Green’s line — “every life matters equally, though our systems seldom act as if they believe it” — into full emotional view. I’ve read that quote before, but never felt it quite the way I did through your reflection on The Anthropocene Reviewed. Your reference to “Auld Lang Syne” — sung not in triumph, but as a thread of fragile humanity in World War I trenches — hit like a quiet thunderclap. Somehow, your comment captured that mix of sorrow and solidarity in just a few lines.
You’re right — hope doesn’t always arrive dressed in grand gestures. Sometimes it’s a matchstick in a cave. Sometimes it’s just being willing to sit in the dark with someone else, so they’re not alone.
I think what John Green gives us, and what you’ve echoed so beautifully, is not a roadmap out of the tunnel — but the courage to walk it. And maybe, if we walk together, that’s enough. We don’t have to always lead revolutions. Some days, just holding the lantern for someone else is the most powerful act of all.
Thank you for this. Truly.
I am writing this reply on the day that the Congress of the United States of America voted to strip healthcare from over eleven million Americans. Every single issue regarding our health system that John Green tackled in Everything is Tuberculosis is bound to get worse. Domestic cuts followed international aid cuts, which stripped critical care for our world’s most vulnerable.
Even before the Big Beautiful Bill was passed, I had long reflected on the healthcare system in America. The first time I had ever truly witnessed the horrors of our system was when I took my grandfather, who I am a part-time caregiver of, to Urgent Care for simple cold medicine. What ended up just being a simple prescription for a week ended up costing my family over a thousand dollars in the long run.
What really solidified my views on our system was my travels to Taiwan. I received the National Security Language Initiative Scholarship to study Mandarin there on behalf of the state department. While I was there, I had a similar cold like my grandpa’s. However, my trip to the pharmacy did not end in a thousand dollar bill, but rather less than fifteen dollars. Even for the locals, that was extremely reasonable. In contrast to most developed countries, the US is a place where the wealthy unevenly have more access to healthcare.
Green’s book builds on the inequality around the world. The most painful and important truth from Everything is Tuberculosis is that Henry, Green’s focus in the book, could have had a better shot at fighting his illness if he had access to the correct care. For anyone who is aware of the state of our health system not only in the US but worldwide, this is sadly not shocking. This book and the story of our prejudice healthcare within it need to be shared more; especially as we are fighting to keep the shell of our broken system from collapsing completely.
John Green has inspired me greatly throughout my high school career, but I think in this book he has given me the most consequential realization: money cannot buy happiness, but it can buy your life.
Hi Donald! I really feel that your comment truly captures the injustice rooted deeply into healthcare systems not just in the US, but worldwide. While your situation with having to spend thousands of dollars on simple cold medicine for your grandfather is different than that of Henry’s character in the novel, both experiences really show the inaccessibility of healthcare, even for minor or easily treatable illnesses. Furthermore, your experience of purchasing the same cough medication in Thailand for a fraction of the price you paid in the United States really made me stop and think about the differences in access to healthcare, a basic need, among nations that are categorized as wealthy and developed.
Although your reply had a strong focus on the flaws of the US healthcare system, I appreciate how you added that while many budget cuts into medical care (like those passed in the Big Beautiful Bill) affect access to healthcare in the US, other financial aid cuts (such as freezing USAID funds) also affect healthcare systems in many other countries. This creates a domino effect, jeopardizing more and more healthcare systems internationally and increasing the inequality in access to healthcare between the wealthy and poor. Your final statement, that money can’t buy happiness but can buy your life, is sadly becoming more and more of a reality all over the world.
Your story is quite individual and, in a sense, still pretty vital. You position your point of view in terms of lived experience: your grandfather struggling with a benign condition and some over-the-counter medication; your own very different experience with health care in Taiwan. You amplify the severe inequity that exists within our health care system. Knowing, in an academic or theoretical context, that the U.S. devotes much more money to health care than many nations, and seeing, through experience, how that spending lacks efficacy for people who need it the most.
Your relationship to Everything is Tuberculosis provides a globalized dimension to this reality. Henry’s story is tragic, yet also painfully relatable. Across borders, millions are denied care for basic things, not because we don’t understand or have access to technology, but because of greed, bias, and broken systems. That this injustice is not confined to your country, but mirrored in yours, is an example of how interconnected and broken our global health system is.
Your last line, “the money can’t buy happiness, but it can buy you life,” is a poignant representation of the moral dilemma that lies at the center of all of this. It asks us to consider what kind of society we are trying to be. Your voice is consistently compassionate, urgent, and visionary.
Spotting John Green’s latest work in a bookstore got me thinking about why he says Everything Is Tuberculosis. After reading this article, I realized that tuberculosis captures an attitude ingrained in our generation. In today’s Internet era, where information travels vastly and rapidly, it is easy for us to overlook or ignore problems that feel distant or don’t directly affect us. Tuberculosis is just one such issue: a preventable and highly treatable disease that still claims millions of lives in third world countries every year. Tuberculosis is a decision, not an accident. It reminded me that we tend to wait—for the right time or for someone else to take the lead—instead of taking the first step ourselves. As Green thoughtfully puts it, “You have to find value in making the thing.” I couldn’t agree more. The fact that tuberculosis is still everywhere, though it really shouldn’t be, highlights a lack of intrinsic value in our health care systems. In a society that equates success with wealth, many pharmaceutical companies prioritize profits over people, preventing access to affordable treatment. I’ve come to realize that solely seeking external validation is not enough to sustain action. What lasts is what comes from within. This is what will stick along through both highs and lows and bring real changes. Only when we act from the heart can we begin building a world where, eventually, nothing is tuberculosis.
Mia, your insight that “tuberculosis is a decision, not an accident” struck me like a hidden truth I’d known all along, but hadn’t dared say aloud.
You’re right — TB exists not because we lack cures, but because our systems have made peace with inaction. It’s not a biological mystery anymore; it’s a moral one. And that’s where your point about intrinsic value becomes so powerful. The difference between performative compassion and real change often lies in whether we act only when the world is watching — or whether we act because we know, in our bones, that we must.
I also appreciated your reflection on how creativity begins from within. It reminded me of something Green said in The Anthropocene Reviewed: that meaning is not waiting to be found “out there,” but made — piece by piece, through care and attention. When we build from intrinsic value — not for reward, not for applause — we resist the very apathy that lets problems like TB persist.
Thank you for articulating this so clearly. Your words remind us that the first step isn’t a grand solution — it’s refusing to look away.
“Here you are, and you are rare and beautiful.” These words from The Anthropocene Reviewed have stayed with me since the moment I read them. They’re so plain and straightforward, yet powerful—a reminder that existence itself is a miracle.
When I heard that John Green came to Wharton to discuss life, creativity, and empathy, I thought, naturally, “of course he did.” Because Green has never been merely a bestseller — he’s a teacher, a weaver of tales, and most of all, a man who has never lost his faith in the magic of imagination. His visit to Wharton felt like a forceful reminder: while our world grows more efficient and algorithmic, creativity is still worth fighting for.
As a relatively new self-published author of a beginner’s chess workbook, I was most drawn to Green’s reflections on creativity and collaboration. It is not easy to send a book out into the world, even one that is specialized and pedagogical. From diagramming layout to cover design to writing problem sets that made sense to real novices, the process was miraculously emotional. I had moments where I wanted to junk the whole project and just walk away, but something about seeing my ideas take shape — to maybe help even one person — propelled me through it all. Hearing Green speak about how he and his brother Hank created their creative platform from scratch and together really resonated. I also have two younger siblings, and while our projects are more spontaneous (usually chaotic group efforts involving cooking or video-editing), I’ve learned that collaboration is its own kind of creativity — messy, challenging, but full of joy.
What struck me most in the article was Green’s message that “creativity is not just valuable — it’s essential.” In school and the wider world, we’re taught to quantify success. Efficiency, output, performance. But creativity won’t be quantified. It’s sluggish, often opaque, and sometimes doesn’t “deliver” anything at all. And yet, as Green reminded the Wharton audience, it’s one of the most human things that we can do. That really stuck with me. I’ve repeatedly worried about the future of creative work, especially as AI technology continues to improve. It is simple enough to ask ChatGPT to tell a story or summarize a book, but can it feel the thrill of a plot development or cry at its own ending? Do we start losing the capacity to dream when we farm out too much imagination to computers?
Green’s books — such as Looking for Alaska and Turtles All the Way Down — were some of the first books that ever made me feel seen as an adolescent. They weren’t perfect characters or easy answers, but they asked me to stay in the not knowing and still discover the beauty within it. That’s what creativity does. It doesn’t just resolve conundrums; it allows us to coexist with those that can’t be resolved so easily. And it makes us kinder, because to imagine a narrative — to really “create” something — is to imagine another’s pain, joy, or hope as if they were our own.
Discovering that John Green was coming was more than learning a newsflash about some famous writer visiting a nearby college campus. It was an appeal — to keep dreaming, to keep creating, even when the world doesn’t always recompense us in multiples. Whether we’re publishing books, coding apps, or collaborating with our siblings on grimy projects, creativity is what allows us to leave something behind. And maybe, as Green states, that’s the best that we can offer.
The first John Green book I ever read was Turtles All the Way Down, and I was struck by how deeply he understands the human experience– especially when it comes to mental health. His portrayal of mental illness felt real– not polished, just honest. So reading about his latest work, Everything Is Tuberculosis, and hearing him say that our health systems “don’t value all human lives equally” just hits me in a different, but just as equally powerful way. I think what he means is that while some people receive advanced, personalized care; others, especially in lower-income or overlooked parts of the world– don’t even have access to basic treatment. When Green tells the story of how his brother received state-of-the-art cancer care while kids with tuberculosis are denied basic treatment, it becomes painfully clear what he means. It’s not just about science or resources– we already have the tools to cure tuberculosis. It’s about who gets prioritized. Some lives are seen as worth the investment; others aren’t. That’s not a medical problem. That’s a moral one. I agree with Green. It’s not enough to say we care about fairness if the systems we’re part of still allow millions of preventable deaths. And honestly, it’s upsetting to realize how quietly we’ve accepted that kind of inequality. Millions of people die from curable diseases because they were born in the wrong place, or don’t have access to power or money. It shouldn’t be that way. As students and future leaders, we might not be able to change it all right now, but we can start small by learning, raising awareness, and supporting organizations that work toward health equity. Even small things– like choosing to study public health, becoming a more informed voter, or amplifying stories like Green’s can help move us toward a world where everyone gets the care they deserve. It all matters because every life should.
The first book which made me cry was “The Giving Tree” at age 7. The second was “The Fault in Our Stars” at age 13, and the novel continues to bring tears to my eyes today.
What makes John Green’s works so different from every other text is their astounding ability to portray emotions realistically —a quality which now makes sense in light of the author’s struggles with the author’s own mental health struggles. Yet, it is not only the sadness which proliferates Green’s novels but humanity as well. The occasional comedic dialogue, the description of characters sharing a sentimental moment: every single word in his novels all convey the message that we are all human and flawed. Yet it is those flaws that make us unique in a world filled with innovations stripping us of our humanity, such as the AI discussed in “AI and the Human Brain: Holding On to Our Humanity.” As Green states, the best way to make a true impact is to harness your inner creativity, not matter what you may think of yourself.
It is this unique creativity is what brought us “The Fault in Our Stars,” and it is the same creativity which will further our society as a whole —not only through life-changing novels, but through every aspect of what makes us human.
When I think of John Green, I picture dog-eared paperbacks passed between friends, late-night texts about characters who felt too relatable, or maybe even a few too many tears shed over Turtles All the Way Down. But reading this article gave me something new. It showed me the person behind the stories, someone unafraid to talk about illness, inequality, and what it means to care.
What stayed with me most was how he described creativity. I’ve always seen it as something reserved for artists or adults with time, not something I could claim for myself. But his words made me pause. Maybe making something just because you care about it is enough. Maybe we don’t have to be perfect or impressive to create something meaningful. I found myself thinking about the ideas I’ve pushed aside for fear of failing or being judged, and I felt encouraged to give them space again.
His reflections on global health inequality struck a nerve too. It is easy to feel disconnected from stories of suffering in faraway places, especially when you’re caught in schoolwork or daily routines. But Green brought those stories close. He made them feel urgent and personal without preaching. That honesty makes me want to pay more attention and ask harder questions about the world I live in today.
More than anything, this conversation made me feel hopeful. Not in a naive way, but in a quiet, persistent kind of way. It reminded me that there’s still power in caring, creating, and believing we can do better — even if we’re still figuring it out.
“We simply have systems that don’t value all human lives equally.”
John Green’s words hit me hard. I live in a small village in Punjab, and I’ve seen talented students give up on dreams just because they lack resources, whether it’s for education or health. Like John, I believe everyone deserves a chance — not just the privileged.
He also said, “Just start and be bad.” That’s how I began my own journey — with small business ideas and big dreams. His path gives me the courage to keep going, step by step.
— Jasmeet Kaur, Class 9, Punjab