“How are you?” they’d ask.
Hollowed out. When I wake up, I think about collapse. When I go to sleep, I think about collapse. Every day punctuated by a knowing, that we stand at the edge of time, on a precipice. It’s the backdrop to every news story, every issue. You think things are bad but will get better. I know they never really will.
“Good, looking forward to the weekend!” I reply.
“How are you?” they’d ask.
Exhausted. Whiplashed by a culture that worships Superbowls instead of superb owls. The ad seconds ticking by, dripping with money and invitations to shop like a billionaire, and plastic pollution to feed our souls. Where they invent shows called Fire Country for entertainment, while ignoring the spectacles that feed the fire.
“Tired, stayed up watching that great game! What a nailbiter!” I reply.
“How are you?” they’d ask.
Numb. Every day there are bombs. Another day in a war. Excuse me, wars, plural, but who’s keeping count? If I counted the bodies, if I let myself feel their suffering, I’d be suffering long into a future lifetime that doesn’t even exist. We weren’t supposed to be here. At least 7 billion of us, weren’t supposed to be here. Eeny meenie miney moe, which of us have to go? The lump in my throat won’t go away.
“Fine, busy as usual,” I reply.
“How are you?” they’d ask.
I was born on the upper deck of the Titanic, after it already hit the iceberg. I might be part of the group that is last to drown, but I’ve looked out the window and see the bodies in the water, floating on broken shelves of ice. I sit down at the table, ante up, and am dealt another hand. Laughing with my friends and family, bewildered by our good luck and fortune. They haven’t looked outside, and I don’t mention what I’ve seen. I stay in the game, but I still hear the screams.
“Just trying to be grateful for all that I have,” I reply.
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These stories contain the opinions of the writers and do not necessarily reflect the opinion of Collapse Club members or conveners.
This work is licensed under Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International
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In a recent Collapse Club meeting, I had the chance to hear from some “young people,” which in this context means people in their mid-30s. This is a different demographic than the mainstream of our participants, who tend to be in their 50s and older.
This article on young folks, from an old folks’ perspective, doesn’t capture my experience or that of my peers. My crew & I, young and old, are grieving the losses but more interested in creating what we can from the shell & bones of collapse. We don’t have the luxury of dying before it happens, unless we die by suicide or natural disaster, so we’re skill-building on how to build community and coalitions of like-minded people; adapt to & filter out fast-moving news streams; breathe through & transmute pain; serve as death doulas, nurses, Community Health Workers (CHWs), facilitators, and artists; continue to sing & dance together like humans always have.
Having participated in groups like Collapse Club and Death Cafe, and having run my own group Planet Titanic Human Extinction Café, it’s hard not to notice how few people under the age of 30 join us in these forums. After all, like us, many if not most of them are aware of the societal collapse and human extinction which are close at hand.
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