This week, I woke up, and before I had even poured my coffee, the world was already on fire. A new pandemic strain. Markets tumbling. Housing instability. War headlines. Economic forecasts are darkening by the hour. The news arrives not as information, but as impact. It hits the nervous system before it reaches the intellect. And just like that, the day feels heavier than it should.

Anxiety is strange in this way. It rarely asks for permission. It doesn’t wait until we’re prepared. It loops and expands, painting catastrophic futures in high definition. By mid-morning, you’re no longer just reading about uncertainty; you’re living inside it. Your mind runs simulations of collapse. Your body tightens. You feel irritable, distracted, and unable to fully enter your own day. What’s exhausting is not just the events themselves, it’s the speed. The compression. We are aware of everything, everywhere, all at once.

A war across the globe sits beside grocery prices in our neighborhood. A viral outbreak in one country merges with job insecurity in our own inbox. The scale of our awareness has outpaced the scale of our nervous systems. We were not built to process the suffering of the entire planet before breakfast. And yet, here we are, carrying global instability in our pockets.

There’s a part of me that believes suffering is inseparable from being alive. To care is to risk pain. To love is to risk loss. To build is to risk collapse. Life has always carried fragility within it. But somewhere along the way, we started confusing awareness with responsibility, as if knowing about every crisis means we must mentally solve it before 9 a.m. The result is a quiet, persistent hum of anxiety beneath even our happiest moments.

This week I was reading Eleanor Oliphant Is Completely Fine. What struck me most wasn’t just Eleanor’s loneliness, but her interior world, how isolated thoughts can become distorted when they’re never spoken out loud. Anxiety thrives in isolation. It grows strongest in silence. In the novel, connection becomes the turning point. Not a dramatic transformation. Not overnight healing. Just simple, consistent human presence.

Someone to sit with. Someone to listen. Someone with whom you can be fully unfiltered.

It reminded me that while suffering may be unavoidable, loneliness within suffering is not. Anxiety often convinces us that we are alone in our fears, that everyone else is coping better, that we should be stronger or calmer. But if you pause and look around, you’ll notice something softer and more honest: most people are carrying something. Financial worry. Health fears. Relationship uncertainty. A quiet existential question about where all of this is heading.

We are not anxious because we are weak. We are anxious because we are aware.

The challenge, then, is not to eliminate anxiety but to learn how to contain it. How do we stay informed without being consumed? How do we acknowledge reality without surrendering our peace? For me, it has meant limiting when and how I consume news. It has meant returning to my body, a walk outside, slow breathing, even washing dishes with full attention. It has meant reaching out instead of retreating and saying, “This is getting to me today,” rather than pretending it isn’t.

And perhaps most importantly, it has meant allowing joy to coexist with uncertainty.

The world has always been unstable; we just have better Wi-Fi now. Yes, there will be crises. Yes, economies will fluctuate. Yes, history will continue unfolding in unpredictable ways. But there is also coffee to be savored, conversations to be had, books to be read, and sunlight on a random Tuesday afternoon.

Anxiety tells us that if we relax, we are being irresponsible. But peace is not denial. Rest is not ignorance. Joy is not betrayal. If anything, choosing to live fully in uncertain times is a quiet act of resistance.

So this week, if you feel that familiar tightening in your chest when you read the headlines, pause. Notice it. Breathe. Call someone. Step outside. Remember that your nervous system is ancient, even if your newsfeed is modern. Ask yourself what is actually within your control today.

You are allowed to care deeply about the world and still protect your inner world. You are allowed to acknowledge suffering and still seek happiness. You are allowed to be informed and still be at peace. Life may include suffering, but it is also meant to be lived.