ANEW: Finding Unity in Chaos
The human spirit during disasters
What is it about the weather lately? Across the country, extremes are disrupting lives—from historic snowfall in the Northeast and Midwest to icy blasts paralyzing the South and relentless fires devastating the West. It seems like no corner of the country is spared from nature’s tumult, leaving communities scrambling to adapt, recover, and carry on.
In the Northeast, snowstorms are par for the course, but even here, decades-high snowfall and relentless ice storms have tested resilience. Towns prepare with plows and salt, cities send out parking warnings, and residents brace for disruptions. It’s the norm. Yet, when these conditions strike areas unaccustomed to winter’s fury—like Dallas or New Orleans—the chaos escalates. Lacking infrastructure, resources, or even appropriate tires, these regions struggle to cope. I heard from a friend in Virginia who described walking the dog as an icy ordeal: "We don’t own crampons here—who does? Every step is a gamble!"
Then, there’s California, where fires rage with terrifying regularity. Just last week, an Episcopal school, along with its connected church, was reduced to ash, leaving the community stunned. Generational wealth, years of hard work, and cherished memories are swept away in moments. The scars are deep, and rebuilding will take years—physically, emotionally, and spiritually.
This patchwork of crises reveals something profound about us as a country. In the face of natural disasters, our instinct is to help. Hyper-local threats strip away political posturing and force us to act. When a neighbor needs help, we respond. For a moment, compassion overrides division. Yet, as the news cycle moves on, so too does much of our collective energy. Compassion fatigue is real.
I think back to Hurricane Iniki, which struck Kauai in 1992. My partner Kim and I were there, expecting a rejuvenating vacation after years of personal and professional trials. Instead, a Category 5 hurricane turned paradise into a disaster zone. The destruction was overwhelming, but what struck me most was the resilience of the locals. As tourists worried about vacation refunds, the residents focused on rebuilding their lives. Native Hawaiians, many of whom had lost everything, still came together to feed stranded visitors and share what little they had.
That experience taught me a lesson I’ve never forgotten: survival isn’t just about making it through; it’s about what comes next. Communities recover because they choose to. They decide to rebuild—not just homes and businesses but their sense of identity and belonging.
This determination echoes across every disaster zone. Asheville, Los Angeles, or anywhere else struck by nature’s fury—people will rebuild. Some will leave, unable to bear the scars. But most will stay, transforming loss into strength. They’ll create stories of survival and hope, passing them down as reminders of what they endured and how they overcame.
These stories hold a mirror to us as a nation. In the face of shared struggle, we glimpse our potential for unity. Chaos reminds us that we are stronger together. If we can carry that spirit forward—not just in moments of crisis but in the everyday struggles of others—we might forge a better, more compassionate union.
E Pluribus Unum. Out of many, one.
Curated Listening:
I am on this jag lately, listening to music from the late 1960s and early 1970s. With the fires in LA still burning after two weeks, who better to represent that era than the Doors and Jim Morrison? If you haven’t listened to them in a while, or ever, then listen to “L.A. Woman” HERE. “Mr. MOJO Rising.”
Lovely. Thank you Brian!