Finding Our Human Center in the Chaos

We are living through what historians might one day call the new "vertigo years" - a time when, as Marshall Berman wrote about modernity, we find ourselves "in an environment that promises us adventure, power, joy, growth, transformation of ourselves and the world and, at the same time, that threatens to destroy everything we have, everything we know, everything we are."

Sound familiar?

If you have felt like you are navigating an endless in-between space lately, where old systems are crumbling and new ones have not emerged yet, you are not alone. We are all gardeners now, trying to tend something we cannot fully control while the weather shifts around us.

But here is what I have been thinking about: this is not the first time humans have felt this way. And when we look at how people actually navigated previous moments of overwhelming uncertainty, there is a pattern worth noticing.

The Paradox of Helpful Systems

We live surrounded by systems and technologies designed to make our lives easier, more efficient, more connected. Our phones promise to keep us informed and in touch. Our productivity apps promise to help us manage complexity. Our social media platforms promise to help us find our tribes and amplify our voices.

And yet, many of us feel more overwhelmed than ever. Socially isolated despite being constantly connected. Worried about money despite living in the most advanced era. Emotionally exhausted despite having access to more information and tools than any generation in history.

This is not because these systems are inherently evil or because we are using them wrong. It is because we are trying to use technological solutions to solve fundamentally human problems and then wondering why we feel like we are drowning in our own life rafts. This is the paradox - but there's an answer.

Lessons from the Last Vertigo Years

At the turn of the 20th century, people faced a similar moment of overwhelming change. Industrialization was reshaping society, new technologies were emerging rapidly, and traditional ways of life were disappearing. The pace of change felt unprecedented and disorienting.

How did they respond? Interestingly, not by trying to build even more sophisticated systems to manage the chaos. Instead, they turned toward rest. The period saw the rise of sabbatarian movements, the growth of vacation culture, and a renewed emphasis on leisure as necessary for human flourishing. They recognized that when the external world becomes too much, the answer is not to match its intensity, it is to create space for recovery and reflection.

This was not passive resignation. It was strategic resilience. They understood something that Gen Z seems to be rediscovering but many of us Gen Xers still struggle with: that sustainable responses to overwhelming complexity require stepping back, not leaning in harder.

The COVID Lesson

We saw this pattern play out again during COVID-19. When the pandemic hit, our first instinct was to reach for technological solutions: Zoom calls, contact tracing apps, sophisticated modeling systems. These tools were helpful, even essential. But what actually kept us going through those dark months?

Connection. Not the digital kind - though that helped - but the gatherings that allowed us to bond despite physical separation. The creative ways we got together safely. The shared rituals of solidarity: the balcony concerts, the chalk messages, the birthday yard signs and drive-bys, the community gardens.

We were all lacking human connection, hyped up on fear and uncertainty, and what got us through was not more sophisticated tools. It was remembering how to take care of each other.

Chaos Theory and the Art of Letting Go

There is a principle in chaos theory that is relevant here: in complex systems, small changes can have large effects, and trying to control outcomes often makes things worse. When you are dealing with true complexity, whether it is a global pandemic, climate change, or the irrational shifts of our economy, the conventional approach of "identify problem -> create solution -> implement solution -> control" does not only fail, it can actually make things worse..

This is why the gardening metaphor from my last piece resonates so strongly. Good gardeners do not try to control their gardens; they learn to work with the natural systems already in place. They observe patterns, make small adjustments, and trust the process. They know that fighting the weeds is an endless battle that only makes the garden (and the gardener) weaker.

The same is true for navigating our current liminal space. The more we try to control the uncontrollable, to manage rigidly rather than adaptively, to optimize our way out of complexity, the more we exhaust ourselves and miss opportunities for genuine transformation.

The Human Element

Here is what I keep coming back to: we are being overwhelmed by systems and technology that have the power to be very helpful, but also have the power to crush us socially, economically, and emotionally. The solution is not to abandon these tools, but to remember that we are not systems ourselves. We are humans who need rest, connection, and space to process and reflect.

This means approaching our current challenges with what I call "strategic humanity," deliberately choosing human-scale responses to superhuman-scale problems. It means recognizing that in a world of infinite information, our attention becomes the scarce resource. In a world of constant connectivity, our presence becomes the gift. In a world of rapid change, our ability to pause and reflect becomes the competitive advantage.

What This Looks Like in Practice

So what does this actually mean for those of us working toward social justice, affordable housing, health equity, and all the other community goods we care about? How do we practice strategic humanity while still engaging with the systems and technologies we need to create change?

First, we embrace uncertainty instead of trying to rush through it. We resist the urge to have all the answers right now and instead focus on asking better questions. We create regular practices for stepping back and gaining perspective. Whether that is through structured reflection time, walks in nature, journaling that helps us process thoughts and track patterns over time, or simply creating boundaries around our digital consumption

Second, we prioritize connection over efficiency. We choose the slower conversation over the quicker email. We opt for the in-person meeting over the digital shortcut. We take meetings off the calendar and replace them with spontaneous texts or phone calls. We set goals to check in with five people a week - sharing how we're thinking about things, listening, not walking in or out with an agenda or action plan, just connecting. We remember that relationship-building is not a nice-to-have addition to our work, it is the work.

Third, we trust the process of emergence while staying actively engaged. Instead of trying to control outcomes, we focus on creating conditions where good things can happen - guided by our values of curiosity, courage, and hope. We plant seeds and tend them carefully, knowing that transformation takes time. When our old ways stop working, we courageously try new approaches. We stay curious about what's emerging. We reach out for help when we need it, hold an abundance mindset, form new partnerships, and remember MLK's insight that the moral arc of the universe is long - with many lost battles along the way - but bends toward justice.

This approach is not about abandoning ambition or avoiding help when we need it. It is about recognizing that sustainable change requires sustainable people and organizations willing to adapt and try new ways of working together.

The Path Forward

The liminal space we are in is not going away anytime soon. The pace of change, the complexity of our challenges, the overwhelming nature of our information environment, these are likely to be features of our world for the foreseeable future.

But this does not mean we have to be overwhelmed by them. We can choose to approach this moment with the same wisdom that helped humans navigate previous periods of massive change: by remembering that we are not machines to be optimized, but humans to be nurtured. By choosing connection over isolation, rest over hustle, presence over productivity.

By finding our human center in the chaos, and helping others find theirs.

The transformation we are all waiting for might not come from building better systems or finding more sophisticated solutions. It might come from remembering how to be human together in an increasingly complex world.

And that is work we can start today, right where we are, with the people around us. No special technology required.

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