what do we owe the world's problems?
Navigating a world in perpetual crisis mode
There’s an inner conflict most of us carry, but rarely talk about.
At some level, we’re all aware of the suffering and injustice in the world at any given time. But we don’t know what to do with that awareness – how to care in a way that’s real, grounded, and productive.
Is it wrong to enjoy your life while others face tragedy?
How do we know if we’re doing enough?
What do we actually owe these tragedies?
Here's what I've noticed: Get this balance wrong, and you either burn out from caring about everything, or you shut down completely. Both responses rob the world of what you're actually here to contribute.
We’re navigating a whole mess of expectations no one really agreed to. There’s pressure to care a certain way. To say something. Share something. Show that you care, or risk being seen as indifferent. And if you’re trying to be a good person by staying “informed,” you’re signing up (consciously or not) for an emotional contract you probably didn’t mean to make.
Everyone experiences this differently. Some are glued to every headline; others float on the periphery. But across that spectrum, no one’s handed a clear answer.
So today, we’re squaring up with it — to acknowledge the messiness and look for something sturdy to stand on.
We’re exposed to everything, all the time
We weren’t built for global-scale awareness. We’re wired for local danger, not an endless stream of crisis and heartbreak. We lack the internal systems to process the scale and volume we’re given.
The perfect response doesn’t exist
None of us set the terms, but the social pressure is there. Speak up? Stay quiet? Take action? Every option comes with risks. And even if you fully engage — maybe, join a nonprofit or fly across the world — what happens when the next tragedy hits? Are you now failing that cause as you focus on another?
The discourse is a mess
The moment we engage, we’re dropped into pre-defined, polarized waters. Narratives are already set, so you either fall into a camp or feel like an outsider in both. Nuance is tough to find, and there’s rarely an audience for it.
There’s always something new
Let’s face it: crises are trends. When we’re caring deeply about the latest tragedy, we’re hooking onto whatever’s dominating the feed. It’s not that our care isn’t real, but it is reactive. As the cycle inevitably turns, keeping pace means grappling with a new crisis over and over.
We’re already carrying a full load
You still have bills to pay, relationships to nurture, and a body to take care of. Work, family, health, friendships — the people and responsibilities in your immediate orbit require real energy. But the information ecosystem expects you also to carry the weight of every crisis. The math doesn’t check out.
So we’re stuck. The current approach either overwhelms us or numbs us out. We need something different.
When we're faced with a question we can't answer, we have two choices: drift, or grab onto something solid. Here's what I've found holds, no matter what the narrative of the day is.
Your sphere of influence is smaller and more powerful than you think
Most global issues feel abstract because they are. But you probably encounter real need within a five-mile radius of your home. The person struggling with groceries, the lonely neighbor, the local organization that needs volunteers. Recognize that sustainable change happens through accumulated local action, not global concern.
Sustainable care means boundaries, not unlimited compassion
Infinite empathy is a recipe for burnout. The people who create the most good in the world aren't the ones who care about everything equally — they're the ones who pick their spots strategically and protect their energy. Boundaries are how you stay useful.
Joy is not a betrayal
Joy is regenerative. It builds your energy, and that energy feeds your contribution. Guilt about feeling good doesn’t help anyone. You’re more productive when you’re fully alive.
Multiple things can be true
You can care deeply about the world and be rigorously focused on your own work. You can hold grief and be intimately aware of the beauty. You can be furious about climate inaction while celebrating your friend’s wedding. You can donate to disaster relief while saving for your own future. Be comfortable with the contradiction.
Empathy doesn’t have to be public
This one’s a simple reminder that quiet care counts and private action counts. Not everything needs to be broadcast to be real — you don’t owe anyone proof that you care.
The world doesn't need you to carry every tragedy. It needs you to show up fully to your corner of it. It needs you to be energized and useful, not overwhelmed and guilty.
The people making the biggest difference aren't the ones consuming every crisis; they’re the ones who found their lane and stayed in it. They care deeply about specific things, and let that focus fuel sustained action rather than scattered anxiety.
There's a tragedy beneath every tragedy: It's that the overwhelm of keeping up keeps us from doing what we're actually here to do.
So maybe the better question is this:
What actually resonates? What feels honest to carry? Not because you think you’re supposed to, but because it’s yours?
Start there. Everything else is noise.
Don't carry it all. Carry what's yours — and carry it well.
If not us, who?
J