Apocalyptic anxiety, a phrase I picked up from brilliant social commentator and writer Sonya Renee Taylor, has been weighing me down as of late. According to Taylor, this is the collective fear, anxiety, depression, and rage that result from extreme modern problems that have an end-of-the-world outcome. The climate crisis is the principle driving force behind this collective anxiety. Racism, gun violence, Trump, global political tensions, police brutality, the alt-right, the prison-industrial complex, and runaway capitalism are also players in this communal angst. In short, the world feels like it’s spinning out of control and we are headed for a very real extinction of the human race and headed there quickly, I might add. 

Anybody else feeling this? Just me? Bueller? 

Some people might be surprised to learn that I struggle with weird end-of-the-world scaries. Generally, I’m a happy person, whatever that is. I do my best to keep things light and fun. My writing tends to be more comedic. At my job, I keep things entertaining. In the entertainment industry, I keep things entertaining. Mostly people look to me to make them laugh. That’s how it’s always been, from the very first time young-Patrick got a chuckle out of a grown-up.

Nevertheless, I can’t ignore facts. Right now, it seems like things are very bad. Our planet is on fire, quite literally in some places. I regularly think about escape plans at concerts, festivals, or movie theaters in the event a shooter starts firing. Every day it appears that we dance on the brink of war with other countries. These wars would almost assure complete nuclear destruction. It all seems like too much, our systems nearing collapse. 

Oddly enough, these feelings remind of my religious upbringing. When I was in middle school, back in St. Louis, I attended a lot of Catholic conventions with my youth group. Each one was slightly different but a variation on a standard. They were all geared toward young people. Thousands of teenagers would gather in arenas and listen to peppy 20-something speakers talk about the sexual mistakes of their past and how they found God through the church. We’d raise up our hands as we belted out praise-and-worship songs that were roughly 17 minutes long each and led by a “rock” band. The keynote speaker was often a “cool” priest or “cool” nun who somehow managed to talk to high schoolers like they were human beings. Mostly, though, it was an excuse to get away for the weekend with my best friends. The bonding we did on those trips had a far longer-lasting impact than any of the speeches we heard or break-out sessions we attended. 

What interests me now about many of these conventions was the apocalyptic undercurrent that often accompanied them. I suppose that’s the backbone of Christianity in some ways. Jesus came, said some cool stuff, left, and is planning on coming back. When he comes back, though, he’s basically going to burn this whole thing down. Some of you are going to die a horrible death in the process, by famine if you’re lucky. Others of you are going to go to heaven. You’ll bring your whole body with you though. There will be some scary-as-fuck horsemen too. 

While the leaders of these conferences wouldn’t often go into Revelations-style details, there was usually mention of “He’s coming back” or “Jesus is on his way.” Whenever we heard those phrases, we’d raise up our voices in deafening jubilation. Jesus coming back was like if N’Sync, Destiny’s Child, Boys II Men, Spice Girls, and Backstreet Boys all decided to go on tour together…for eternity. It was the literal the best thing ever. 

My follow-up feeling to these moments was always heart-palpitating fear. He’s coming back? Isn’t there going to be a plague of locusts? I don’t even know what a locust is. Is that something we really want? And won’t everyone I love either die or float up to heaven? I’m not super into that idea. The whole earth, as I know it, will be razed to the ground and I’m cheering like I won tickets to Disneyworld. 

I, for one, don’t really like the idea of everyone I love dying or floating up to heaven. I don’t really like the idea of that happening to strangers either. Certainly I don’t want famine to hit anywhere. I get crazy hangry when I miss a single meal; I can’t imagine how rough famine would be. And I’m really not into those damn locusts. Why are we cheering this shit on? 

Side note: I’ve done a bit of theological study. I understand some of the more complex notions around the return of a Messiah. At the end of the day, it’s an idea that should lead a person to a life of goodness and morality. I’m not here to discredit all, or any, religion. I’m not anti-Christianity. I’m not even anti-religion. In fact, I don’t harbor any ill will towards these early panic-inducing-apocalypsey-locust-loving experiences. I’m just concerned that my 30-year-old brain now chronically falls back into those same feelings when I see that the Amazon is on fire and another couple dozen people were killed by a weapon of war in a mall outside an Orange Julius. 

What really miffs me about this apocalyptic anxiety is that it’s dampened my dreams. Or, at least, it’s made me call them into question. How can I still want things out of my life if the planet is headed down an imminent fiery toilet of death? If we can no longer grow food for ourselves, it seems silly to want my own TV show. If everyone I love might get nuked, then writing a book feels asinine. If the planet is entirely engulfed in flames and we’re incessantly getting blown away by hurricanes, why should I write a one-man show?

These feelings are scary. Everything appears dire. We’re in mortal danger. And yet, if I sit in these feelings long enough, if I wait out the initial panic, I come to something else on the other side. I get a little clarity if I’m willing to be in that uncomfortable space for just a moment. I realize that this fear, this anxiety, this staring-down-the-end is really what life is. It’s what life has always been. Our journey as humans involves a beginning, middle, and end. For some reason we forget about the end. The end should never be a surprise for us, but it often is. From very early on, we learn that we will one day die. It’s not an “if,” it’s a “when.” Death has always been a part of our story. In fact, it’s one of the few inextricable things about living. Life, even without an apocalypse, will end. 

For eons, then, humans have manifested dreams, visions for their lives, that go beyond mere survival. We’ve cultivated fun, joy, and laughter, in spite of knowing the tiger lay right outside our cave. Beautiful things have always been created by human hands in spite of their triviality. Nothing really matters so, therefore, everything kinda matters. We make things, we dream bigger, we hope. To steal from our former president, that’s the audacity of hope. We live out lives, as magnificently as we can, because of a stubborn belief that more is possible, that goodness is possible. The end isn’t nigh because, really, the end has always been nigh. Ever onward we march. 

I can’t claim to know the cure for this collective apocalyptic anxiety. However, I know my personal antidote. It’s purpose. When I lean into the things I was put here to do – write, create, perform, entertain – I feel less of that anxiety bearing down on me. Maybe that’s the answer. If we collectively do our soul’s work – being a parent, a doctor, a good friend, an entrepreneur, a good listener – perhaps we’ll stand a chance against these behemoth, all-encompassing, fire-breathing, palm-sweat-inducing, heart-racing, wake-you-up-in-the-night problems our species face. Perhaps humanity was designed with such stunning intelligence that every person was given just a tiny bit of the answer. If we lean into our purpose, that thing that made your heart first flutter, that first chuckle you got from a grown-up, then the mosaic that is our race will be made complete. Our answers will become clear. Our problems will become solvable. 

Meanwhile, take care of yourself. Get off social media from time to time. Put down your phone. Watch what triggers your anxiety. Stop numbing. Talk to other humans. Make love. Eat good food. Get outside. Laugh. Sweat a little. Then go do your work. Fight the fight and dismantle the things killing us. Keep waking up. Keep making that which is in you to make. The fate of humanity literally depends on it. 

Check out this week’s photo contributors:

Ronê Ferreira

Eberhard Grossgasteiger