What If Collapse Was the Moment to Come Back to Yourself?

We are living in strange times. Times that shake us, that unsettle and disturb. Every newsfeed feels like a prelude to disaster: rising geopolitical tensions, economic instability, the threat of war, urban violence, the resurgence of extremism, environmental disasters, inflation, and a growing sense that the future is slipping out of reach.

And in the midst of all this turmoil, one truth emerges quietly: we are exhausted. Exhausted by fear, by the need to stay alert, to keep going, to pretend we’re okay while the world feels like it’s falling apart. So maybe it’s time. Time to do something radical—something the world might call selfish: take care of ourselves.

Not in a superficial or narcissistic way. Not to cut off from the world or pretend it doesn’t exist. But in a deep, vital, human way. To come back to what really matters. To find a form of stillness. To protect a quiet space within us where the noise of the world cannot enter.

Because what’s the point of trying to fix the world if we can’t even find ourselves? What’s the point of chasing goals in a system that feels absurd? What good is sacrifice when the present moment is crying out for our attention?

We’ve been trained to push. To hustle. To aim higher. To be productive, efficient, purposeful. We’re told to have plans, dreams, impact. But what if, right now, the most courageous act is to let go? To stop forcing. To stop pretending. To stop living as if we’re in a race we never chose to enter.

What if we looked honestly at the state of the world and said: yes, things are bad. Yes, there’s violence, injustice, division. And at the same time, we refused to let it consume us. Not out of denial, but out of self-respect. Not out of apathy, but because we know that fear won’t build a better world—only clarity can.

This is not about disengaging. It’s about refusing to become part of the chaos. Refusing to let anger and fear be the only stories we live by. It’s about saying no to endless scrolling, no to performative outrage, no to pressure, and yes to simplicity.

Yes to a slow morning. Yes to a shared meal without phones. Yes to music that doesn’t need to be useful. Yes to resting. Yes to walking without a destination. Yes to creativity, to hobbies, to forgotten dreams. Yes to love, even when it’s messy. Yes to joy, even when it feels fragile.

Is it escapism? Maybe. Or maybe it’s the most grounded response we have left. Maybe the ones who are creating peace inside themselves aren’t delusional—they’re brave. They’re not ignoring the world. They’re refusing to become what the world wants them to be: afraid, cynical, hyper-connected but lost.

There is a quiet revolution in saying: I will not let the world make me bitter. I will not sacrifice myself on the altar of news cycles and social algorithms. I will not trade my calm for panic.

Yes, the world is tense. Yes, war is possible. Yes, everything feels unstable. But in that instability, we still have the right—and perhaps the responsibility—to care. To be gentle. To slow down. To love. Not as luxury, but as necessity. Not to escape, but to heal.

To laugh. To dance. To learn. To play. To share. Maybe these small things are the only real things left. Maybe this is what it means to live, when everything else seems to be collapsing.

What if, instead of trying to save the world, we tried to save ourselves from becoming numb? What if the most radical act was to simply feel again, breathe again, be present again? What if being well wasn’t selfish, but revolutionary?

It’s not weak to rest. It’s not naive to be kind. It’s not foolish to dream. It’s not wrong to protect your inner peace. It’s survival. And maybe it’s the beginning of something new.

One day, this moment of crisis will pass. Or it won’t. But either way, this is our life. This breath. This body. This hour. And no one can take that from us.

So love. Love what you do. Love who you choose. Love the moment. Refuse to let fear win. Because when everything else falls apart, love—and peace—may be all that’s left.