Falling Apart

Despite the frequency with which it’s levied, “how are you?” is a trash conversation starter. These days, who can know?

In attempt to venture an answer, I am reminded of a spectrum once shared by a meditation teacher. On one end is bliss, defined not as all-consuming ecstasy or permanent vacation, but instead the simple feeling that everything is okay.

Anxiety, by contrast, sits toward the other side – the nagging sensation that things are not okay. Left unchecked, anxiety can slide into despair: the conviction that things are both not okay now and will never get better. Despair is the collapse of hope, the belief that tomorrow will be worse than today, and the day after worse still.

Grief tends to live alongside despair. It is the intense sorrow that accompanies loss, oft described as love with no place to go. Usually, grief arises from a discrete loss: death of a beloved grandparent, foreclosure of a home. Increasingly, though, the grief many feel is ambiguous and anticipatory. It is the persistent ache that the future we counted on may never arrive, with its abundant tap water and social security checks paid in full.

For many communities, those promises have always been fantastical. For others, the gutting disillusionment is hitting all at once. It is natural to fall into despair when contemplating the collapse of life as we know it. Western metanarratives guaranteed us eternal progress. Wasn’t STEM education supposed to fix these things? Where are the grown ups?!

While despair is a normal part of the human condition, getting stuck in the state is futile. Paralysis removes access to agency over things we can control. To avoid getting trapped in resigned despair, it is imperative to feel the full extent of one’s grief. To acknowledge that the past did not necessarily unfold as desired… and the future may not either.

Although these realities seem soul crushing, solace comes from inviting them in. Rather than fighting, numbing, or avoiding the sadness lurking beneath the surface, the work is to turn toward the feelings. Better yet, let them consume you. Binge the tearjerking movies, stare at the ceiling to the soundtrack of teenage years. Grief is physically gutting, but ultimately cleansing. Although it may take years to fully process the unfelt emotions, the only way out is through.

For this reason, feeling deeply is not some selfish indulgence, but a critical (and underappreciated!) form of service. Breakdowns lead to breakthroughs. You come out the other side with less fear of impermanence, renewed humility in the face of forces we cannot control.

And crucially, experiencing the full emotional range allows us to be more present for others. It expands the capacity to not fix or “bright side” a situation, but to be with others as a compassionate witness, even when a tragic reality cannot be changed.

I recognize it is a privilege to take the space and time to fall apart. Most do not have the luxury. If you can, however, you must – even in small doses. My personal theory of change suggests the issues of our time cannot be solved by technical tweaks like instating carbon markets or revising zoning codes. Policy matters, but it is upstream of psychology. True transformation requires processing the multi-millenia backlog of trauma knocking around the collective psyche.

So, this autumn, do your part and fall apart! Rage, weep, and mourn for the collapse of ecosystems and the Post-WWII social order. Let grief have its way with you and trust what emerges: not resignation, but acceptance, perspective, and a grounded readiness to serve.