How do you catastrophize?

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A little over five years ago, the world came to an end. If you recall, that was when the coronavirus began its relentless surge around the world, killing at least 7 million people, according to the World Health Organization¹, upending economies, and sprinkling an extra dash or two of chaos on what was already a chaotic planet. I remember, early on, telling a friend that this was indeed the finale, that nothing would be the same afterward, that we were witnessing the destruction of any kind of expectations for life we might once have had. I probably sounded crazy. But I was also right — though not in the way I thought I would be.

Because the world didn’t end. Or rather, it ended, and then it kept right on going. By the summer of 2025, I still had a job (the same one I have now), I was taking vacations with my family and our friends², and while nothing was normal, things were normal-ish. America was 21st-century America, only more so. An election, chaos, a coup, more chaos, a vaccine, then insanity. Progress, rebellion, war, counter-revolution, venality, hope, fascism, cancer, genocide, dinnertime.

Look, I’m not here to make sense of it all. And I’m certainly not going to tell you it’s going to be okay. We are speedily disassembling all of the institutions that made this country functional and successful over the last 80 to 90 years, while recasting anti-racism as racism and shrugging our shoulders at war crimes.

And yet… I am no longer ranting and raving about the end of the world.

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That’s not to say I’m not preparing for the worst. I’m still a Jew in America, reared on tales of pogroms and the Holocaust, intimately acquainted with Christian chauvinism, not to mention run-of-the-mill racism. I’ve plotted escape routes, refugee-friendly countries, late-life career switches. (You’re all invited to the grand opening of my Sichuan restaurant in Odense!) I know how this has gone in the past, and if or when it happens again, I’ll be at least psychologically prepared.

But I’m no longer getting worked up about it. The back-up plans are set, more or less, so in the meantime, while the clock ticks on human civilization, I guess I’ve just decided to live. There are kids to take care of, “work” to “do,” runs to run, climbs to climb, movies and books that I might as well enjoy while I can. I may be powerless to alter our collective fate, but I can still order a new burner head for the stove and unclog the bathroom sink and nag my 16-year-old daughter to apply for a summer job even though there’s only a month of summer left.

Partly, this is a distraction. I fill my life up with these minor preoccupations because if I were to let the hopelessness of our situation wash over me, I’d spend my days curled up on the floor in a fetal position, and then who would make the salad dressing? But I also like the minor preoccupations — they’re what I’m here for in general, to enjoy the small interstitial moments along the way to death and disaster. They’re life.

I still catastrophize, of course. But I wade only ankle-deep into those waters of hopelessness. More and more, I’m trying to prioritize my panic. I fret about this guy, not this guy. In the absence of national policies designed not to kill to help the populace, I look to state and local governments to do slightly — slightly — better. I take note of advancements in clean energy, even though it’s clearly too late to rein in climate change. I don’t know if I’ve crossed the line into “hopeful pessimism,” but I figure if our doom is certain, getting upset about it isn’t going to do me any good. What, me worry?

And so now, when I hear other people proclaim the end is nigh, I shake my head a little. Such melodrama! Just last night, my good friend M.D. texted me about “the collapse of the country,” writing, “Everything I’ve feared for the past 30 years has come true.” Well, sure! That’s correct!

Or to put it another way: Yes, and…? What comes next? Unless we are looking at total extinction in the next decade, which I guess is a possibility, The End is only the end of what we have now. Nations, civilizations, peoples have collapsed before, and new ones have moved in to take their place — this is the cycle whose finale we lucky 8 billion just happen to be here for. Few of us may catch even a glimpse of what’s to come, but in the absence of clairvoyant certainty, we might as well use our damn imaginations. Because as bad as things are, as bad as they’re going to get, as craven and corrupt as the bad people are these days, the future has a way of turning out different from what any of us expect. You can always count on catastrophe, but don’t count out chaos. 🪨🪨🪨