I am not afraid. 

I am in awe. 

I’m in awe of nature.

I’m in awe of science. 

And I’m in awe of the power of love. 

I’m walking around right now too amazed to be afraid. No, I don’t want to die. And I don’t want others to die. But for me, I’m not afraid to die. I’ve had a good run. 

I realize this is a once in a century event and will likely have impacts that span generations. It was never a hoax. Or conspiracy. It’s not economic. Or political. It’s nature. And nature doesn’t fuck around when it sinks its teeth. 

We move through life and see mountains, and oceans, and sky. We look to the stars and don’t really see them for what they are. Our rock spins 1000 miles an hour and takes a year to circle our star–and we are mostly oblivious to all of it. Except for when a storm rages or water rises and death follows.

Then we notice. For a little while, anyway. But we’re highly adaptable and tend to slide right back to what we can see and touch and taste and buy. Things we control. 

Because we love control.

And nature is beyond that. 

There are forces in the universe both great and small that can wipe humanity away. 

Like a microscopic virus that doesn’t respond to threats of action, political pressure, or money. 

Nature is the great leveler. Nature is in control. And frankly, it doesn’t give a damn what we want. 

Aside from poets, the best way to understand nature is through science. But let’s face it, poetry and data aren’t nearly as easy to consume as The Bachelor. And our species likes things convenient. Simple. Routine. 

So as we settle in for the event of our lifetime, focus not on the radical inconveniences we have to endure. Consider instead how amazing it is that we’re even alive at all on a rock flying through space. Read scientists. Read poetry. Pay attention to the beauty that is already starting to rise up above all this darkness.

And perhaps allow humility to enter your hearts in knowing that while you’re smart, and wealthy, and good looking, you’re lucky to control the underwear you choose every morning. 

Be safe. But also be in awe. And don’t just tell others you love them, show them.

Because maybe, just maybe, love is the best thing that will come from this.

Maybe that’s even the purpose.



A Dog’s Obliviousness
We Get Through This Together

Jim Mitchem

Writer. Father to daughters. Husband. Ad man. Raised by wolves. @jmitchem on twitter. First novel, Minor King, out now.