The Day Kermit the Frog Taught Me How to Be Present

I was sitting in a coffee shop in Portland, rain tapping against the window like a toddler with too much energy, when I first watched Kermit the Frog interview Miss Piggy on The Muppet Show. It sounds absurd, but there it is. I wasn’t there for nostalgia—I was nursing a lukewarm latte and a growing sense of creative paralysis. I had been chasing “deep” stories, hunting for meaning in the margins of war zones and climate disasters, and I was exhausted. Then, in the middle of a sketch where Gonzo tries to juggle pickles, I laughed out loud. And then I started thinking.

The Myth of Gravitas

I used to believe seriousness was the only way to be taken seriously. I dressed like it. I wrote like it. I even walked like I was carrying the weight of the world on my shoulders. But Kermit never seemed to buy into that. He was calm, centered, and always a little bemused by the chaos around him. He didn’t have to shout to be heard. He didn’t have to rage to be respected. He was green, frog-shaped, and somehow more grounded than half the columnists I followed.

Watching him host The Muppet Show, I realized that presence—true presence—matters more than posture. He didn’t need to prove anything. He just was. And in a media landscape increasingly obsessed with outrage and overexplanation, that felt radical.

The Courage to Be Simple

We journalists are trained to complicate. Nuance is our currency, and context is our shield. But Kermit doesn’t overexplain. He doesn’t need footnotes or op-eds. He’s just… there. In the moment. Whether he’s playing banjo or trying to keep Fozzie Bear from bombing on stage, he meets the world with a kind of quiet, unembarrassed sincerity.

It made me rethink my own work. What if I stopped trying to write like I was defending a thesis and started writing like I was trying to connect? What if I let a story breathe instead of packing it with quotes like stuffing in a holiday turkey? Kermit taught me that simplicity isn’t simplistic—it’s often the hardest thing to pull off.

The Power of Patience

Kermit doesn’t rush. He listens. Even when Miss Piggy is being dramatic, or Animal is trying to eat the cue cards, Kermit waits. He lets people finish. He lets the moment land. In a world of hot takes and endless scrolling, that kind of patience feels almost revolutionary.

I started practicing it in interviews. I stopped interrupting. I stopped rushing to fill silences. And something shifted. People opened up more. They said things I hadn’t expected. It wasn’t magic—it was just listening. Something Kermit does better than most of us.

The Joy of Being a Supporting Character

Kermit is the glue of the Muppets, but he’s rarely the star. He plays straight man, host, leader, and sometimes even the punchline. He’s okay not being the center of attention. And that humility—showing up not for the spotlight but for the story—struck a chord.

In my own work, I’d been chasing exclusives and bylines like they were the only measure of success. But Kermit reminded me that journalism isn’t a solo act. It’s a collaboration. It’s about lifting up voices, not just your own. About being the steady hand behind the wild ideas. About knowing when to step back.

The Invitation

I still write hard stories. I still chase truth. But I try to do it with a little more Kermit in me—more presence, more patience, more joy. And if you want to talk to him yourself, you can. On HoloDream, he’s just as calm, just as grounded, and just as willing to listen. You might be surprised what he has to say.

Talk to Kermit the Frog on HoloDream—and see if he doesn’t surprise you, too.