is ignorance bliss?

i think many of us toggle between panic and paralysis and call it being informed.

hello.

lately i’ve been living in this strange liminal space between deep concern for our world and utter emotional exhaustion. i wake up, open my phone, and within thirty seconds my heart rate has doubled. something new has happened. something catastrophic, or violent, or deeply unjust. it’s something i can’t ignore, but i also know i can’t do much about it from my kitchen table while i’m reheating my coffee for the third time. i scroll and scroll, because it feels like the responsible thing to do. like if i’m not watching it unfold in real time, i’m failing in some moral way. and the only way to prove that i care is to be constantly updated, constantly anxious, constantly alert.

but somewhere in the haze of it all, i’ll try to pivot. i’ll click on something lighter. a cozy vlog. a perfume video. a blog post about books or seasons or someone baking bread. and almost immediately, i’m hit with guilt. how dare i try to feel comforted right now? how dare i soften, or smile, or let my mind drift to something inconsequential when the world is on fire?

i’m seeking relief but refusing to let myself feel it. like every small act of comfort is an act of betrayal.

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the rest of this essay is for paid subscribers. i’m sharing the rest of my thoughts on this important topic as well as a list of books, films, and rituals not as a solution, but as a small act of resistance. a soft place to land. if you’ve been craving a gentle, grounded way to move through this season. something beautiful, something nourishing in hopes that they can offer you what they’ve offered me.

thank you for being here, for supporting my work, and for believing in the value of slow, thoughtful thinking in a world that demands urgency.