How Best to React to the Coming Apocalypse

Radical acceptance and preparation versus despondency

The world these days seems in rather dire straights, to say the least. Just as the worst pandemic in a century has finally begun winding down, leaving a traumatized, polarized, exhausted public in its wake (on top of millions dead and millions more suffering ongoing physical and mental health issues), we’re now faced with the renewed prospect of World War III. And even the countless horrors of what’s happening in Ukraine are in their own way simply a massive distraction from the other, equally existential crisis of our era — climate change — which the war has only exacerbated.

In times like these, it’s easy to despair. It’s easy to want to just curl up in a corner in a catatonic stupor of fatalistic overload. Or drink yourself into a stupor of oblivion. Awash in a never-ending torrent of bad news, it becomes harder and harder to drag yourself out of bed each morning to head off to a job that even in the best of times can seem meaningless and soul-sucking and wholly insignificant. And it’s nearly impossible to look into the sweet, innocent faces of your children and not feel a stabbing twinge of guilt for bringing them into an overcrowded world beset by problems not of their making, but theirs to bear the consequences of nonetheless.

So what do you do? When I look at those around me, I see a consistent and predictable repertoire of responses.

Many career-minded professionals seem to cope by throwing themselves into their work with a doubled-down intensity (which serves only to increase the stress of those already struggling to pretend what they do for a living has any point to it, that it’s anything but humanity running around like headless chickens to destroy the planet as fast as possible for no justifiable or redemptive purpose whatsoever). But hey, nothing a mountain of emails and make-work tasks can’t fix.

Many others instead seek mindless distraction. When I opened a meeting the other day with an only partially tongue-in-cheek Safety Moment about what to do in the event of a nuclear attack, I was met with glazed looks and stunned silence, broken only when someone deftly made a pivot to football. My local team’s trading of their star quarterback to a regional rival was all the rage, dominating newspaper headlines for two days. Sorry, Mariupol. Russell’s got the mic. The sense of relief among my colleagues (not for the change in players, but for the change of subject) was palpable.

And then of course, as I’ve discussed on a number of occasions, there are those who seek the escape of altered states of consciousness via chemical means. Alcohol sales throughout the pandemic have hit record highs. The opioid crisis rages on unabated. (As I type this, a half dozen West Point cadets are in legal and medical straights over their spring break overdose on fentanyl.) Cannabis has now been legalized in some form in 38 states as well as across all of Canada and Mexico, and even the staunchest of prudes and War on Drugs apologists no longer seem overly concerned by it.

Lastly, you have the “collapseniks,” the doomsday preppers and “collapse porn” addicts who have taken the old Boy Scout motto fully to heart as they (we) stockpile food, ammo, and of course, toilet paper. Get your solar panels and night vision goggles while you can. Load up on water barrels and a rain catchment system to fill them. And you’d better learn how to skin a rabbit.

The question then, is which (if any) of these constitutes a rational, sensible response to the prospect of Apocalypse? Is it better to be Pollyanna or Chicken Little? Or do you check box number three, “None of the above”?

I believe the answer lies in a concept from psychology called “radical acceptance.” It’s a way of making your peace with reality — however unpleasant both the situation and the task of looking it straight in the eyes. As described on one mental health website:

Radical acceptance is NOT approval, but rather completely and totally accepting with our mind, body and spirit that we cannot currently change the present facts, even if we do not like them. By choosing to radically accept the things that are out of our control, we prevent ourselves from becoming stuck in unhappiness, bitterness, anger and sadness and we can stop suffering.

What it’s saying is that if you want to avoid being constantly overwhelmed, then you can’t get hung up dwelling continuously on the world’s endless injustices. The universe is simply not a just place. If you don’t believe me, go ask a Black person. Ask the people of Ukraine. As difficult as it can be not to, and as insensitive as it may feel, you simply can’t spend all your time lamenting the way things “ought to be.”

You need to not just acknowledge, but fully internalize the brute facts of reality. The fact that we’re all mortal. The fact that we’re completely and utterly on our own — both within the ball of jelly contained within our skulls and in the universe at large. You can’t move forward in any meaningful way until you put these truths on par with gravity and depravity — as unassailable features of the world we dwell in.

Of course, to some people this comes more naturally than others. The other day, I posted on social media one of my recent articles expressing my sadness and disappointment at the sudden resurrection of nuclear annihilation as a pressing societal concern, and the reply from my sister — who’s been battling cancer half her life — was highly instructive. She said:

It’s a damned scary time, that’s for sure. But yeah, what DO you do? You go about your life and live each day to the fullest in hopes that you have another day. Much like I learned to do when I first got diagnosed. As none of us know if today will be our last.

It’s true. The entire world has suddenly been handed my sister’s same terminal diagnosis. So for her it’s like, “Welcome to the club.” And for us it’s like, “Smoke ’em if you got ’em.”

But radical acceptance is only the starting point. It’s only a beginning, a springboard to launch you into something practical and productive; into prudent preparations for whatever the future may throw your way.

Even if I knew that tomorrow the world would go to pieces, I would still plant my apple tree.

There’s a lot of discussion these days about how best to weather the pending collapse of global civilization. A lot of it’s rather amusing, as the authors — much like we’ve seen with the army of armchair generals currently running the war effort here on Medium — often have little in the way of experience or credentials, yet are filled to overflowing with strong opinions. But some advice is just basic common sense. Or it would have been a mere three or four generations ago and likely will be again soon.

To start with, if you live in an apartment in a crowded city, I’m sorry to say it, but you’re probably pretty much shit out of luck. The Apocalypse will not be kind to urbanites. Two weeks without electricity is enough to turn New York City into Aleppo. My advice would be to start looking for land in a small town or way out in the countryside, or at least make friends with someone who’s already established there.

For those who do have property in a rural area, beyond stockpiling a few months worth of staple necessities (having several 25 pound bags of rice and dried beans in sealed storage tubs makes for a rather cheap insurance policy), you need to start thinking longer term. For no matter how many Costco-sized 30-packs of toilet paper you stash away, the tragic day will inevitably arrive when you break down in tears gazing upon a bare cardboard cylinder as you wipe your ass properly for the very last time. So you might as well cut to the chase and start getting used to moss. The same goes for coffee (and oranges, and bananas, and all such tropical imports). Enjoy them while they last.

You have to consider the most basic human needs — food, clothing, and shelter — and how people went about providing these throughout the bulk of human history. Or if you’re not ready to go full caveman, at least study up on the Amish.

Having a good wood-burning stove is essential. Having access to a well, and ideally, a way to capture rainwater too, is likewise essential. Having a vegetable garden (and keeping it securely fenced-off from wildlife) is key, so it doesn’t hurt to start stockpiling a variety of seeds. But remember, unless kept in the Svalbard Global Seed Vault, they only remain viable for a few years in most cases, so you’ll need to figure out how to nurture crops all the way to seed in order to be self-sustaining.

You’ll definitely want to learn how to hunt (and get over any squeamishness you may have about it) because the reality is, meat is one of the most energy-dense foods out there, and it doesn’t require refrigeration when it’s still part of a living, breathing creature. There’s a reason we still have canine teeth. You’ll want to have a good scoped rifle that you know how to shoot, and plenty of ammo. Better yet, or as a longer term supplement, is a quality compound bow and copious arrows. And don’t forget fishing gear.

Planting fruit trees is also a worthy investment. As they say, the best time to plant a fruit tree is ten years ago or today, so you might as well get started now if you can. It can take three to five years for most fruit trees to start bearing, so the sooner you start, the better. And remember, you need the right mix of cultivars to cross-pollinate or they won’t produce at all. You should also learn about food preservation techniques — canning, drying, fermenting. Otherwise much of your fruit will simply rot on the ground.

And then there are domestic animals. Chickens are super easy to keep. They’re basically glorified goldfish. Food, water, and occasional fresh straw (or even lawn clippings in a pinch) are all they require, and less than a half dozen of them will supply more eggs than you can readily eat.

Ducks, pheasants, geese, turkeys, and other fowl are likewise easy to keep and convenient for fresh meat and as a source of down for making winter clothes. Bees are great (for both honey and pollination) if you have the right gear and know-how. And if you have sufficient pastureland (and you need quite a lot — at least five acres of grass for every large herbivore), cows, sheep, pigs, and horses are all very useful for meat, dairy, transportation, fertilizer, and muscle power.

Anyway, you get the idea. I’d say solar panels are also an excellent investment, but even the best ones start to degrade after about twenty years, so unless civilization rebounds within a single generation, you’re almost better off readapting to medieval standards right off the bat and saving yourself future misery when it’s forced upon you with the eventual failure of your equipment.

Well, I’d say that pretty much covers it. As surreal and depressing as it is to have to consider any of what I just discussed as having the slightest possible relevance to your existence, look around. The writing is on the wall. It would seem foolish to ignore it.

Throughout human history, societal collapse has been more the rule than the exception. And just like most of us today, hardly anyone living in those societies would have wanted to believe the end was nigh until it actually was.

The one silver lining to all this, the one redemptive feature of it all, is that everything you need to survive and even thrive no matter what catastrophes may occur (barring total nuclear annihilation), all of it lies within reach if you’re willing to make the effort.

It starts with cultivating an attitude of resilience. Pull your head out of the sand and face the future with your chin up and shoulders squared. Next, take some common sense measures to learn some useful, hands-on skills, and build out a social network of others with complimentary talents. Lastly, take advantage both of whatever savings you might have (while fiat currency still has value) and of our incredibly wasteful, materialistic society to stock up cheaply on useful necessities.

Not that I’m in any way a fan of his theology (or for that matter, much of anything about him beyond his spirit of rebelliousness), but there’s a quote from Martin Luther I find both highly applicable and soothing. He said, “Even if I knew that tomorrow the world would go to pieces, I would still plant my apple tree.”

I think what he’s getting at is that no matter how bleak the outlook, there’s never just cause to abandon all hope. Because hope is simply “a desire for something and a reasonable expectation of attaining it.” It’s not blind faith. It’s not a baseless belief in something you fervently desire to be true (despite it not being true). It’s instead a positive attitude coupled with an acknowledgement of your lack of omniscience. Our lack of that particular divine capability is, in fact, one of our greatest strengths.

Not having a crystal ball is truly a blessing. No one knows what the future will bring. So there’s no point in stressing it. As the Stoic philosopher Seneca stated, “A number of our blessings do us harm, for memory brings back the agony of fear while foresight brings it on prematurely.” In other words, live in the now and live in the known.

There’s no point stressing the Apocalypse as though it were an absolute certainty. I’m not sure there would be any point in stressing it even if it were an absolute certainty. But while there may be no point in stressing over things you have no way of impactfully altering, that doesn’t relegate you to inaction. For there might be a lot of point in quitting your mindless cubicle job and spending every last waking moment from here on out doing something joyful and meaningful with the ones you love. There might be a lot of sense in making sure those loved ones will still have means of obtaining sustenance even if supermarkets suddenly cease to exist.

Let’s hope that in twenty years I can look back on this essay and laugh at all my misplaced cynicism and overreaction. Let’s hope I’m able to read it on a holographic display while getting taxied around in a self-driving flying car en route to a Martian spaceport.

But unless things take a radical turn for the better, I see it as more likely that someday this will exist nowhere but on a worn and crumpled printout miraculously spared from becoming tinder for a cooking fire — a printout that I’ll fold up wistfully and put back in my pocket after reading… as I pick up my machete and keep to the shadows to avoid the roving bands of cannibals infesting the radioactive wasteland. Happy hunting.

Colby Hess is a freelance writer and photographer from Seattle, and author of the freethinker children’s book The Stranger of Wigglesworth.

If you enjoy my writing and would like to receive stories by email whenever I publish, please click here.