We've Stopped Prepping. Here's Why.

It's the end of an era.

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Recently, I’ve heard these questions:

When should we start preparing? When is it going to happen?

Can you actually survive what’s coming?

What if nobody listens to you?

What if it never happens?

These questions used to keep me up at night. Now, they don’t. They’re obsolete, relics from an age bound for the archives. In my life, the more I think about it, the more I realize, it’s not going to happen. It’s happening.

It’s not future tense anymore.

It’s the present.

I’ve already walked through a 117F heat index (47.2C). I’ve already driven through a brushfire that made one of our mountains look like an erupting volcano. Rare storms and F3 tornadoes already knocked out our power and tore apart the homes of our neighbors. Hurricane Helene already destroyed the cities where my friends and family live. For us, it’s not theoretical. Not anymore.

Right now, my town is going through the worst drought since the Dust Bowl. Friends and acquaintances are starting to ask us for advice. We’re the only ones who look like we know what we’re doing.

As our county starts to implement water restrictions, we dust off the Berkey we’ve only used for disasters. We give it a permanent home. We start cycling through our stored water earlier than usual. We dig places for a full rain catchment system. We rig up a battery-powered pump. We research portable, in-line filtration systems. We research how to chlorinate barrel water if necessary.

We’re already running a water generator on solar power.

We’re already testing a DIY model.

We’re not preparing for the worst drought since the Dust Bowl. We’re in the worst drought since the Dust Bowl, and we’re dealing with it. We’re not preparing for storms and tornadoes that might never happen. We’re recovering from ones that have already hit us and will hit us again. We’re not preparing for heatwaves that might never come. We’re putting plans in place for the ones that we’ve already lived through, and we’ll live through them again.

It’s my reality now, and that reality is shared. Nobody looks at us like we’re weird anymore, even if they’re not taking the same steps.

At least here, my family doesn’t have to warn anyone. My spouse doesn’t fret over cutting the gutters anymore. He doesn’t wonder if we’re going too far. He’s worried. He’s glad we’re doing all this.

There’s no more urgent conversations in hushed tones. There’s no more panic. There’s no more sleepless nights. Everything we ever worried about is here. We’re at war with a country that owns a chokehold on the world’s fossil fuels. We’re in the worst droughts and heatwaves in a century.

We’re ruled by puppets in service of billionaires who fantasize about the apocalypse. It’s all out in the open now. We plan. We execute.

We live.

Family conversations about doomsday events used to be stressful. Now I casually mention, “The idiots are bombing Iran again. Should we go ahead and get the other rain barrel?” He says, “Sounds good.”

My daughter learns about water filtration. Not because we think she might need it. We know she’s going to need it. We already need it.

In all honesty, people like me aren’t experts. We never intended to live like this, but it’s what the situation calls for.

We’re adapting.

We’re figuring all this out as we go, doing our best to sort through all the information and misinformation on the web. It would’ve been nice to learn this at school, or from our elders, but that didn’t happen. The world raised my generation to hustle and grind, not collapse. So, we hustled and hustled.

Now we have to learn a different way to live. Earlier generations had decades to figure out homesteading, and they had the assurance of a grid to fall back on when they messed up. We don’t have that. We’re actively losing the assurances and safety nets that would catch us when we mess up. I’m not saying that to be confrontational or bitter. I’m simply stating a reality that needs airtime.

If you’re trying to do this, if it feels overwhelming, you’re not alone. As I previously wrote, millions of us are trying to figure out survival on the fly. We’re doing it in backyards in the suburbs or downtown apartment blocks. Some of us are going about it in a cavalier, reckless way. Others of us have some sense of what we don’t know. We still get it wrong, but we learn.

There’s an interesting term in psychology.

It’s called the third layer of fear.

The third layer of fear also goes by the name “anticipatory anxiety.” Basically, you develop a fear of being afraid. For example, you’re so afraid of the future, you don’t even want to think about it. Or you develop unhealthy coping mechanisms, like toxic optimism or hoarding. Some of us have broken past the third layer of fear. It helps when you actually start to wake up.

When you move into the realm of certainty, your mind stops racing. A peace comes over you, even if it’s not the certainty you wanted. At least, that’s open. It’s better than continuing to dwell in that third layer.

Us?

We’re not preparing for dystopia and disasters. We’re living in them. The anticipatory anxiety has drained out. It’s gone.

In the old era, you packed a bugout bag that you hoped you’d never need. Now you repack a bugout bag you’ve already used.

This is life beyond the third layer of fear. It’s a life where you no longer have to justify your decisions or spend hours scrolling to validate your thoughts and emotions. The thing you were scrolling is right in front of you. You’re not scrolling doom anymore. If anything, you have entered the scroll. You are the content.

They told you to go outside and get some fresh air.

They told you to touch grass.

Now you go outside and touch the crisp, sun-beaten grass. You hear it crunch beneath your feet. You go inside and check yourself for ticks.

That’s why I’m no longer prepping.

It’s not prepping anymore.

It’s just living.