I’m not saying the apocalypse is upon us, or even necessarily imminent. But, what with one thing and another, it doesn’t feel entirely out of the realm of possibility, either. For all I know, humanity’s best days may be yet to come. Perhaps, outdoing old King Canute, we will find a way to turn back the swelling tides of our global demise, both literal and figurative. (As the old saying goes, “The Good Lord willing, and the creek don’t rise”.) Still, at the very least it’s worth sketching out one or two possible strategies for making the most of the end of the world, assuming we have the chance to see it coming.
For me it really comes down to just a couple of feasible alternatives. The first of these, which I have decided to call the Salty Margarita Stratagem, involves entirely devoting myself, for the remainder of our species’ collective lifespan, to all sorts of heedless hedonistic pursuits. As Warren Zevon—that late, lamented, cynical bard of lost souls—once poignantly sang, “All the salty margaritas in Los Angeles/ I’m gonna drink ‘em up”.
This scenario is a fun one to contemplate. It would involve me applying for all the forms of financial credit I could possibly lay my hands upon, then maxing them all out as I and my friends and loved ones ate and drank our way around the world.
The chief problem with that option is the very real possibility that the world doesn’t succumb to fire and /or flood in a timely enough fashion, and I’m stuck holding the tab. The debt collectors may have to travel down some dusty trails to find me, but find me they will. As Zevon sang, in the very same song I referenced earlier, “If California slides into the ocean/ Like the mystics and statistics say it will/ I predict this motel will be standing/ Until I pay my bill”.
I wish I could say that the second strategy under consideration involves fearless, selfless dedication to the betterment of all humanity. Although I will fight tooth and nail to protect those nearest and dearest to me, I’m no beacon of courage, no Alexander Navalny or Malala Yousafzai. I have no problem voicing my opinion, but I tend to take the course of least resistance. I need my creature comforts, and I don’t like drama unless it’s on the page, stage, or screen. I will gladly bake canapes for the Resistance, or hide them in my basement, but I’ll probably not be manning the barricades when the mutant cannibal hordes or the MAGA-militia come marching north.
No, to my mind the only other feasible strategy is to just keep on going. Keep learning, growing, loving, fucking up, breaking down, trying to improve, getting worse, getting better, and slowly, just maybe, figuring out what it means to live a good life. Just waking up every day and doing the best I can, with the limited capacities that I have, to add to, rather than subtracting from, the world. This, I call the “Suck It Up, Princess” strategy. Sadly, it involves far less lobster thermidor and cocaine.
