My mind has an extraordinary ability to circle. I'm the kind of person who has the same anxiety-inducing thoughts circling in my head over and over. The way I made a fool of myself months ago, or the embarrassing thing I said years ago. There is a rhythm to it, as steadfast as it is compulsive or obsessive.

In truth, I take solace and refuge in thinking of our great equalizer. Oblivion. Everything I've ever done or said is a sandcastle on the beach with the tide coming in, at some point. Scientists have moved their metaphorical Doomsday clock to 85 seconds to midnight. Later, the sun will balloon into a red giant and leave Earth a smouldering crater. Even later, entropy will eventually cause all the atoms in the universe to be so heartbreakingly far apart from one another that it will be called heat death.

And, for me, there is a macabre, morbid sigh of relief. No matter what mistakes I make, no matter what haunts me, it will eventually be forgotten. The concept of forgetting will itself be forgotten.

And maybe, too, this is how I cope with what I cannot reckon with. The deepest oil-slicked pits of horror we are witnessing on a daily basis. Our witnessing of atrocity we have no control of stopping. The ongoing genocides. The revelations found in files. 330 gallons of sulphuric acid. Children taken from their mothers at birth. Just yesterday, there was a mass shooting in my neighbouring province.

I think, too, how oblivion will gracefully wash away all atrocity. And in the colourless silence, I think there will be peace for those who unjustly did not find it here.

And yet, despite all of this, my mind has an extraordinary ability to hope. I am optimistic. Perhaps pathologically. Oblivion is inevitable but this brief, finite, bizarre existence certainly wasn't. None of this was anywhere close to being guaranteed. I believe it is our sacred duty to make things better in the now, in the present moment.

There are so many of us with immense privilege. Sure, we do not seem to be gifted with the capacity to end suffering and atrocity, or the marionette-style systems which act as vehicles for widespread suffering and oppression. But there is still so much we are capable of.

Because, beyond mere oblivion, we have fields of imagination and will. As Frankl wrote about in Man's Search for Meaning, we can be stripped of everything physical, but our capacity for imagining a better future and how our mind operates are not things our jailers can take from us. He called this "the last of human freedoms", the ability to choose one's attitude in any given set of circumstances. Even in the concentration camps, those who survived were often those who could connect with a purpose in life and immerse themselves in imagining that purpose, whether through conversing with an imagined loved one or envisioning the work they would resume after liberation.

I think it is far more naive and cruel to be hopeless. To declare that oblivion is the only answer or that you lack total power to do any sort of positive act sustainably.

I do not think it is a controversial opinion to say that we have been trained towards a defeatist, anti-natalist mindset. The philosophy of anti-natalism, which argues that procreation is inherently unethical because life inevitably involves suffering—has gained traction in online communities and academic circles, with thinkers like David Benatar arguing that coming into existence is always a serious harm. Such philosophies, bereft of solutions, inevitably gravitate towards defeatism and appeasement, that they would rather wait for humanity's end than actively work to make the world better. We have been propagated towards pearl-clutching and fingerwagging and infighting and semantics and irrelevant discourse. Economic anxieties, climate fears, and the burdens of modern life have left many young people declaring the world unsuitable for children. I do not blame anybody for falling into these unproductive ruts, but there is so much more.

We share our inevitable oblivion. One day, I shall go gently into that sweet night, and so will you. But today simply is not that day. And until then, we must act with the strength of a cornered feral dog. We must do absolutely everything in our power to better the lives of those around us, to intentionally choose love no matter how difficult those around us may be to love.

We, too, share our current suffering. Buddhism has taught me how this is the core universality for all sentient beings. The First Noble Truth, dukkha, acknowledges that suffering is woven into the fabric of existence itself, not as a pessimistic condemnation, but as a realistic starting point for transformation. Dukkha is often translated as "suffering," but its meaning is more nuanced. It encompasses all unsatisfactory states, the inherent unease of impermanence, the frustration when pleasant experiences fade. Buddhism teaches that every sentient being experiences suffering intrinsic to birth, death, and the cycle of existence, regardless of status, wealth, or power. This is meant to connect us. In recognizing our shared vulnerability, we find compassion.

Look into who is doing boots-on-the-ground work in your area. Figure out ways to love as a revolutionary. Be radical in your kindness and optimism. Be militant with your hope. Let your oppressor strip you of everything but your imagination and will. I've said similar things in my articles in the past, and I will keep writing them until my fingers atrophy and until I no longer am capable. This is a drum that requires our insistent, stubborn beating. This is a garden that requires our insistent, stubborn watering.

Steps You Can Take

Join or start mutual aid networks. Mutual aid is the practice of neighboirs supporting neighbors through reciprocal exchanges of resources and services. Food pantries, community fridges, grocery deliveries for vulnerable neighbors, bail funds, childcare co-ops. These networks have deep roots in Black, Indigenous, and immigrant communities, from the Black Panther Party's free breakfast programs to sociedades mutualistas in Latine communities.

Find local efforts at mutualaidhub.org or create your own, check social media, community bulletin boards, and grassroots organizations in your area.

Support people experiencing homelessness and housing insecurity. Donate to shelters, volunteer at warming centers, contribute to community bail funds, or participate in street outreach programs.

Get involved in food justice. Volunteer at food banks, help maintain community fridges, join or start community gardens, support local food sharing initiatives.

Practice bystander intervention and community safety. Learn de-escalation techniques, participate in Copwatch programs that document police misconduct, offer to walk vulnerable community members home.

Use your specific skills. If you can design graphics, help organizations with their outreach. If you can write, draft press releases or grant applications. If you speak multiple languages, offer translation services. If you have medical training, volunteer at free clinics. Every skill matters.

Organize in your workplace or school. Start conversations about collective action, form tenant unions, create support networks for marginalized colleagues or students.

Show up for direct action. Attend protests, rallies, and demonstrations. Support land defenders and water protectors. Join campaigns for immigrants' rights, climate justice, disability justice, and LGBTQ+ liberation.

Redistribute wealth directly. Give money to people who ask for it. Fund community members' GoFundMes. Support local mutual aid funds that provide direct cash assistance without means-testing or conditions.

Build relationships across difference. Talk to your neighbors. Create neighborhood pods of people who check in on each other. Foster the social infrastructure that becomes invaluable in times of crisis.

The point is not perfection. The point is persistent, stubborn action in the direction of care. Mutual aid is solidarity, not charity. It's the recognition that we are bound to each other, that your liberation is tied to mine, that we share both our suffering and our capacity to ease it.