The Next Storm Will Come: On Self-Reliance, Fragility, and Civic Preparedness

There’s a quiet contract between citizens and the state. We go about our daily lives—working, raising families, checking the weather with half an eye—under the assumption that someone, somewhere, has a plan. When something goes wrong, help will arrive. The lights will come back on. The call will go through. The system, however stressed, will hold.

But what happens when it doesn’t?

A recent storm cut across our region with unusual force. Trees fell, transformers sparked, and for hours—then days—many households found themselves not simply inconvenienced but severed from the normal means of connection and care. Power gone. Phones down. Roads blocked. Emergency calls delayed or unanswered.

For some, this was a disruption. For others, it was a warning shot.

Our expectations about infrastructure and public safety are built on mid-20th century assumptions about stability and redundancy. But climate volatility, aging grids, and stretched emergency services are reshaping those expectations. And while it's tempting to search for institutional fault lines or bureaucratic missteps in the aftermath of such events, there is a more honest—and more productive—question to ask:

Are we ready?

Preparedness as a Civic Virtue

There is something deeply American about the ideal of self-reliance—so long as it isn’t confused with isolation. What preparedness demands is not retreat from public life, but an active, practical engagement with it: an ethic of readiness grounded in personal responsibility and communal awareness.

In California, residents are taught to expect earthquakes. In Florida, hurricane season is anticipated, not ignored. These are not just environmental facts—they are cultural ones. Preparedness becomes part of daily consciousness. Not fear, but familiarity.

In our region, we’ve grown up with a different kind of weather: four seasons, yes, but rarely catastrophic. The occasional blizzard or flood, sure—but never enough to change how we live. That, however, is changing. And with it must come a new mentality.

We need to normalize the idea that every household should be able to function, to some meaningful extent, on its own for 72 hours. Not because government won’t help, but because even the most competent government can’t do everything, everywhere, for everyone, all at once.

This is not a sign of governmental failure. It is a recognition of human scale.

What Preparedness Looks Like

Let’s be specific. A well-prepared household isn’t one with bunkers and bug-out plans. It’s one with enough non-perishable food, clean water, flashlights, and batteries to endure a multi-day outage. It’s one with a basic first-aid kit and an understanding of how to use it.

It’s also one that anticipates its own vulnerabilities: households with medical equipment dependent on electricity should have portable battery backups or small generators—not as extravagances, but as essentials. Refrigerated medications, oxygen machines, CPAPs—these aren’t optional. The plan must match the need.

And preparedness is not purely individual. We live in neighborhoods. We know who among us is elderly, immunocompromised, or alone. The ethic of readiness is also an ethic of care.

Who on your block would need help during an extended outage? Who has no generator, no backup phone, no family in town? Who might be forgotten if no one checks?

The question, put simply, is this: Do we know each other well enough to act when systems fail?

When the System Is the Problem

To talk about self-reliance is not to excuse systemic weakness. Our electrical grid, like much of our infrastructure, is brittle in ways that ought to concern us all. Our emergency communication systems—911 dispatch, municipal alerts, cellular networks—deserve regular scrutiny and reinvestment.

But public investment works best when it is met with private realism. Preparedness does not replace the need for public systems. It protects them. It reduces the volume of preventable emergencies. It allows first responders to prioritize life-and-death situations. It turns a moment of systemic failure into something survivable.

And it begins with a mindset shift.

Readiness Is the New Normal

If the storm that knocked out power taught us anything, it is that disruption is no longer exceptional. It is part of the pattern. We can either treat these events as isolated anomalies—or we can let them inform our habits.

Start a home kit. Stock the basics. Get a battery-powered radio. Buy a spare power bank. Learn how to turn off the gas line if you need to. Write down the phone numbers that are only stored in your cell.

But don’t stop there. Make a list of who you’ll check on if the power goes out. Ask your elderly neighbor what they’d need if their lift chair or medical fridge lost power. Offer to share a generator. Start a group chat for your block.

We often imagine preparedness as something austere or survivalist. But it can be neighborly. It can be quiet. It can be the work of ordinary civic responsibility.

This isn’t the work of alarmists. It’s the work of adults in a time of uncertainty.

The next storm will come. Let’s meet it prepared.