Chaos Among Serendipity

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Chaos. It is the only word that feels honest for the moment we are living in.

Everything appears to be happening at once. The federal government is shut down. Grocery prices are climbing with athletic ambition. The job market feels fragile, the housing market volatile. Utility bills are rumored to be next. Meanwhile, in Los Angeles, it still feels like summer despite the calendar’s insistence that November is near. Climate change, anyone?

Racists remain confused about geography. A reminder: Puerto Rico is a U.S. territory. Bad Bunny is a U.S. citizen. Enough said.

A basic grocery run now costs me around $100, and that excludes Champagne. Businesses continue to navigate an ever-shifting tariff landscape. Is Trump still rewriting the rules on that?

Journalists have handed in their Pentagon credentials. Universities are declining to sign the Trump administration’s latest federal grant pact. Has any institution agreed to it?

In Southern California, the 5 Freeway, one of the busiest corridors in the country, was temporarily shut down because the military was firing missiles overhead. The surreal has become procedural.

My Instagram feed is crowded with headlines about the U.S. passport slipping out of the global Top 10. But how much does that matter when we have adults who do not know Puerto Rico is part of the United States? Who cares about passport rankings when our education system has failed to teach basic geography for generations? That is the more enduring embarrassment.

And then there was the bedbug outbreak at Google’s New York offices, sending employees back to remote work. I am not even going to get into AI and the quiet replacement of entry-level jobs. That is another essay.

Somewhere on Kauai. November 2024.

I cannot ignore what is happening. But I have chosen to emotionally detach—not out of indifference, but out of necessity. I have accepted that I cannot breathe intelligence into ignorance, turn hate into love, or save those who refuse to be saved. Most importantly, I had to acknowledge that I am not Jesus. I cannot feed five thousand with five loaves and two fish. I cannot save all. We cannot save all.

Over the past three years, I have worked deliberately to build a serene life—one that satisfies my cravings and curiosities. I have filled my space with objects that bring quiet gratitude. I have filled my time with experiences that bring euphoria, adrenaline, delight, fulfillment, and sometimes simply peace in the mundane. I built habits and routines, recalibrating them whenever the symptoms of clinical depression resurfaced.

I have learned that the only true control I possess is over my own life. I cannot control what unfolds in the world, but I can shape what unfolds in my world. I decide what enters my space, physically and emotionally. I set boundaries and enforce consequences. I manage what occupies my time and energy. I determine the who, what, where, and when of everything within my orbit.

In doing so, I created space for serendipity—for the unexpected joys I never planned for but deeply needed.

The chaos of our era once seeped into my life and chipped away at its health. Now, wrapped in the sanctuary I have built, chaos no longer pierces me. It meets the layers of serenity and serendipity I have intentionally cultivated—and remains outside.

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