For years I thought preparation meant stocked shelves, tidy drawers, a list taped to the refrigerator with important names and numbers, like small anchors against the unknown. I imagined readiness as a kind of armor: a plan for where to go and what to do if the winds of change grew too menacing.

But the future, I’ve learned, is not impressed by armor. It favors a steady mind, attuned to opportunities as well as pitfalls. Preparation is not a pile of supplies. It is the skill and practice of becoming someone who can meet tomorrow with smarts instead of fear. Someone who can breathe through uncertainty, speak with clarity, act with intention, and return, again and again, to their quiet center when the world starts pulling at the edges.

The world we built after industrialization taught us to depend on systems far beyond our control: global supply chains, distant energy sources, volatile markets, and institutions whose priorities increasingly seem disconnected from ordinary life. Those systems have brought extraordinary convenience, but also growing inequality, ecological damage, and new kinds of fragility.

We may be entering a period in which some of the things we depend on become more expensive, less reliable, or more unevenly available. For example, food, water, energy, housing, health care, safe places to live. These possibilities are real. Shortages can become displacement. Ecological stress can become political unrest. Competition for food, water, land, and energy can become conflict. Pretending otherwise is not optimism. But neither is catastrophe inevitable. What matters is how much room we have to move.

The more completely we depend on one system, one supplier, one source of income, one way of getting what we need, the more vulnerable we become when conditions change. The alternative is not to abandon modern life, retreat from the world, or become self-sufficient little islands. It is to become more capable within our own lives and more connected within our communities.

That shift will ask more of us. More responsibility, more practical knowledge, more physical participation, more cooperation. That is a very different mindset from the one that taught us that convenience was progress and independence meant needing no one.

To thrive through uncertain futures, we will need to know more than one way to satisfy a need. We will need to create several viable alternatives before those alternatives become necessities. We will need to be capable of contributing to our community’s well-being, and connected enough not to face everything alone.

Resilience and Interdependence.

This is the biggest takeaway: resilience is not a single road. It is a constellation of paths, each shaped by where we live, who we love, and what we carry. A family in Chicago prepares differently than a farmer in Costa Rica. A renter differently than a retiree. There are no perfect answers. Just your preferences. You choose what is best for you after researching your options and talking with friends, family, and community.

In the months ahead, we’ll walk together through questions without easy solutions:

Should I stay here? Should I move? What are the tradeoffs? How local should my food be? How much technology is enough? Which skills matter now? What do I truly depend on, and what possibilities have I not yet included in my search for answers?

If we walk this path together, we will have a better chance of seeing clearly, planning wisely, and becoming better observers of our lives, our surroundings, our communities, and our own minds. We’ll become better people, better neighbors, and better stewards of whatever small corner of earth has been entrusted to us. And slowly, better ancestors for all that follow us.

We don’t have to be perfect. We just have to be prepared; and walk forward with both discipline and wonder, open to the possibilities. 

Capable. Connected. Resilient.

Welcome to Walking with Monica.