This one’s sort of a rant.<\/i><\/p>\n
Don’t be a Flutterbudget.<\/b><\/p>\n
In L. Frank Baum’s novel, The Emerald City of Oz<\/i>, Dorothy Gale and some of her friends are touring the hinterlands of Oz. They visit various villages whose inhabitants are distinctive, to say the least.<\/p>\n
As they approach one community, a woman rushes at them, screaming in panic, “Save my baby! Please, please save my baby!”<\/p>\n
Since the party can see that the baby is safely tucked into Mother’s arms, they’re befuddled. When they point out that her child seems to be just fine, the distraught woman cries (I’m going from childhood memory, so bear with me), “But what if I put my baby on the windowsill? And what if the window was open? And what if baby fell out? And what if there was a hill outside? And what if she rolled down the hill? And what if there were lions and tigers at the bottom of the hill and they ate her all up???” Then she runs off screaming, “Save my baby! Oh somebody, please! Save my baby!”<\/p>\n
Dorothy and her friends had reached Flutterbudget Center — a relocation community in the Quadling Country<\/a> where such people are placed. <\/p>\n And why are they placed there? To protect the normal inhabitants of Oz against their unrestrained hysteria.<\/p>\n —–<\/p>\n Awareness of the world’s multitudes of dangers — from supervolcanoes to super-government machinations — can easily turn us into Flutterbudgets (been there, done that).<\/p>\n Yes, the fedgov could<\/i> declare martial law or try to round up all its critics. Yes, an unprecedented mega-storm could<\/i> hit your location (been there, done that, too). Yes, a new global plague could strike. Or a meteor. Yes, a chemical plant could<\/i> engulf you in a cloud of deadly gas. Yes, a jetliner could<\/i> crash on top of your house. For that matter, a volcano could erupt in the middle of your cornfield<\/a> or you could be caught in a rain of frogs<\/a>. Or your entire town could be hit with seven rains of toxic goo<\/a>.<\/p>\n It happens.<\/p>\n But the reality is, we can’t prepare for everything. You could build a bunker, train with the finest firearms in the world, be ready to fight zombies — and get hit by a truck. Or felled by an allergy. Or get cancer.<\/p>\n You could prepare for hyperinflation, only to find that superflu hits. Or vice versa. You could prepare for six different kinds of disasters — and die peacefully in your bed at 90 after an uneventful life.<\/p>\n But however you personally want to approach preparedness, would you please do one thing? Don’t buffalo newbies, people on a budget, or people who aren’t totally obsessed into thinking that they<\/i> have to read\/do\/be\/(and in particular) own<\/i> every possible preparedness-related thing.<\/p>\n For years, our friends and family members have considered us nutty just for having extra food in our pantry or an AK in our closet. Now, finally, after decades of snarking at us … they’re suddenly interested. It might be only a vague, unfocused interest at this point. Or it might be more serious. But they know something’s wrong in our times. They’re feeling the need.<\/p>\n They turn to us for advice.<\/p>\n If you respond: “Well, good. Now you just have to memorize this two-foot stack of books, read every word on these five websites, order six new guns, get night-vision goggles for everybody in the family, order two years supply of freeze-dried lasagna from Utah, buy a personal fire engine (another suggestion from an actual survival guru), attend three different wilderness survival schools, and …”<\/p>\n … there’s no use saying more because you’ve lost them.<\/p>\n We need to remember: KISS. Keep it simple, stupid.<\/p>\n And remember: <\/p>\n The first questions in setting preparedness priorities are:<\/p>\n 1. \u201cWhat bad things are most likely<\/i> to happen to me?\u201d and —–<\/p>\n Example: Thursday I wrote about four survival basics<\/a>: air, shelter, water, and food. I dismissed the need to make special preps for air (with several noted exceptions) and went on.<\/p>\n Several people objected to taking air for granted. The subject of gas masks came up.<\/p>\n I have nothing against gas masks. I used to have one.*<\/p>\n If you live near a chemical plant, you might want one. Or if you’ve assessed your risk factors and determined that a chemical attack is high on your list of likely problems. If you engage in activities that could result in tear gas being hurled at you, ditto. If you’ve already got lots and lots of preps and think a gas mask would be a handy addition, why not? They’re not terribly expensive. If you’re up for doing all the research on how they work<\/a> and when they won’t work, how safe they are (or aren’t)<\/a>, and what kind you should have, go for it. On the other hand, as commentor Matt, another points out<\/a>, ordinary dusk masks from the hardware store can come in quite handy and aren’t so bizarre or intimidating to most people.<\/p>\n But the real issue is: If you think anybody who is compiling basic preparedness guidelines should say, “Be sure to get a gas mask for everyone in the family,” you want something that is simply going to push ordinary people away from preparing for the ordinary emergencies or hardships for which millions of people ought to be better prepared. In fact, it’s going to push people away from the very concept of self-reliance, which is a damnable shame.<\/p>\n Ditto for thousands of other outre objects, activities, and skills of “prepper” culture.<\/p>\n You don’t tell first graders they have to read Proust.<\/p>\n You don’t teach calculus before the times tables.<\/p>\n You don’t advise people on limited incomes to buy caviar.<\/p>\n You don’t tell newcomers to the lodge that they have to have all the secret handshakes and lore memorized before the next meeting.<\/p>\n You don’t advise sedentary 70-year-olds to get off the couch and run marathons.<\/p>\n So why, oh why, oh why, do so many of us insist that preparedness is all or nothing? Why do we insist that everybody needs to rush out and save the baby from lions and tigers at the bottom of the hill when the baby is — for the moment — safe and comfortable?<\/p>\n —–<\/p>\n It’s so true: “The perfect is the enemy of the good.”<\/b><\/p>\n Better to start small and develop a habit<\/i> of preparedness than to think you have to have it all — and end up either doing nothing or doing only a few random things because you’re too baffled and overwhelmed to think straight.<\/p>\n —–<\/p>\n Preparedness can<\/i> get very complicated very quickly. Our job should not be to make it too<\/i> complicated, too<\/i> quickly.<\/p>\n I’m sure most of this is done out of sheer enthusiasm, or concern for others, or Flutterbudget-style panic, or personal experience that leads us to think everybody should have whatever might have helped us.<\/p>\n
\n2. \u201cWhat do I need to cope with that?<\/b><\/p>\n