You’re Normally Rational – But Finding the World Hard Right Now

07/01/2026

You’re Normally Rational – But Finding the World Hard Right Now

A practical guide to managing information overload, doomscrolling and rage-bait.

There’s a particular kind of discomfort that’s been coming up again and again in conversations lately – with clients, with leaders, with friends, with people who would normally describe themselves as rational, grounded, and not especially prone to panic. It’s not outright fear, and it doesn’t feel like hysteria. It’s something quieter, and harder to name.

A sense of disbelief, perhaps. A low-level hum of unease. A feeling that the world doesn’t quite make sense in the way it used to – and that looking at it too closely, too often, leaves you feeling worse rather than wiser. And, when you factor in the 24-hour, endless scroll of news, fakes, stoked outrage and propaganda… well, it starts to feel like nothing humanity has ever experienced before. Not just because of the scale of events themselves, but because of the way they’re pumped into our lives – all at once, all of the time.

I re-watched Alan Moore’s V for Vendetta recently, and found myself remembering when the film was new, nearly twenty years ago, and how “near-future” it felt at the time. We’re in that near future now – so much so that parts of it even feel a little dated. The character Lewis Prothero, played by Roger Allam, now reads less like satire and more like a blueprint for the kinds of propaganda mouthpieces we’ve become uncomfortably familiar with.

Cue a scrolling rabbit hole. I ended up diving into all sorts of interviews and material around the making of the film, and during that little detour I came across a conversation between Moore and the comedian Stewart Lee. At one point, Moore remarks:

“Things don’t really stand still long enough to satirise.”

Spot on.

If any of this sounds familiar, it’s not because you’ve suddenly become fragile, naïve, or unable to cope. It’s because you’re human, paying attention, and trying to process a volume and intensity of information that no nervous system was designed to carry indefinitely. The world is changing. The way we understand it is changing. But our physiologies are the same.

A very reasonable response to an unreasonable environment

Our statistics tell us that while we have a good spread of readers across the generations, a small majority – like me – sit somewhere between late Gen X and early millennial. Some call us Xennials: the only generation to have had an analogue childhood and a digital adulthood.

For many of us, our formative years were shaped by the long tail end of the Cold War. I remember being shown When the Wind Blows at school and coming home only to break down over my Bernard Mathews Golden Drummers. (Anyone else recall thinking, “Raymond Briggs – he drew The Snowman, didn’t he? This’ll be great then…” and leaving the classroom quietly assuming we’d all be dead by morning? See also ‘Threads’ two years previously)

For our parents, it was Korea, Vietnam, Suez. For our children, it’s something else again – a world currently experiencing more armed conflicts than at any point since the Second World War.

Generational differences aside, most of us grew up with a fairly clear, if imperfect, mental model of how the world worked. There were tensions and conflicts, of course, but there was also a sense – however loosely held – that there were norms, guardrails, and a shared understanding of what was acceptable, what was unlikely, and what sat firmly in the realm of the unthinkable.

What’s unsettling many people now isn’t just what is happening, but the erosion of those assumptions. The feeling that familiar reference points no longer apply, that things which once felt fringe, improbable, or safely contained now sit much closer to the centre.

Add to that an information environment that delivers those signals relentlessly – through news alerts, social feeds, rolling commentary and hot takes – and you have the perfect recipe for cognitive overload.

The problem isn’t that you’re paying attention, it’s that attention, without pause or perspective, quickly turns into strain.

 

Why staying informed can start to feel unbearable

Human beings evolved to respond to immediate, local threats. Our stress responses are brilliant at mobilising us to deal with what’s right in front of us – a problem we can see, a danger we can act on, a situation where effort makes a tangible difference.

What they’re much less good at is absorbing a constant stream of threat signals that are global, abstract, largely out of our control, and presented without any clear path to resolution. Our nervous systems didn’t evolve for rolling news, live updates, or the psychological equivalent of being told “something terrible might happen somewhere, at some point – stay alert” several hundred times a day.

When awareness isn’t paired with agency, it makes us anxious, fatigued and – over time – numb, because the system quietly overloads.  It’s not because we don’t care.

This is where many thoughtful people get stuck.

You care enough to pay attention. You’re informed enough to see complexity, yet the more you consume, the less grounded you feel. The tension between wanting to stay awake to the world and wanting to protect your own equilibrium isn’t a personal failing; it’s a design flaw in how information now reaches us, and in the expectation that a single human nervous system should be able to metabolise all of it without consequence.

 

A different way of relating to what’s going on

So, if the goal isn’t ignorance, and it isn’t overwhelm, what does seem to help?

What follows isn’t a manifesto or a moral position. It’s a practical, humane set of principles that many people find allows them to stay engaged with the world without getting pulled under by it.

Take what’s useful. Leave the rest.

1. Move from constant exposure to intentional contact

There’s a meaningful difference between being informed and being flooded.

Rather than grazing on updates throughout the day, some people find it helps to choose a specific, limited window to catch up – once a day, or even a few times a week – from a source they trust to offer context rather than just reaction.

Making this a deliberate choice, rather than a reflex, can quietly restore a sense of agency that endless scrolling tends to erode.

2. Let go of the idea that awareness is a moral duty

This is often an unspoken source of pressure.

Many people carry a subtle belief that if they stop watching, reading, or listening, they’re somehow opting out – being irresponsible, disengaged, or uncaring. You might even hear people say, increasingly, “I’ve just stopped reading the news.”

The issue isn’t awareness itself, it’s that awareness without the capacity to act doesn’t improve the world; it simply transfers its weight into your nervous system, and if there’s anything most of us could do without right now, it’s more of that. So if you can start to believe that caring isn’t measured by how much distress you can tolerate, you’ll be doing yourself a big favour. 

3. Distinguish between what matters globally and what matters to you

It’s possible to hold concern for the wider world and still recognise that your real leverage tends to live closer to home.

Your health. Your relationships. Your work. Your community. The conversations you have. The tone you set. The way you show up.

Focusing here isn’t small-minded or selfish. It’s one of the ways stability is maintained – and passed on.

4. Choose one meaningful outlet for your concern

For some people, this might be donating to a cause they trust. For others, it’s volunteering, engaging locally, or supporting work that aligns with their values. It could be as simple as opening up dinner table conversations you’ve never had before about what it feels like to live in this world.

What seems to matter most is choosing a single channel where concern turns into contribution, rather than dispersing energy across dozens of issues you can’t realistically influence.

Action – however modest – has a genuinely grounding effect.

5. Protect your nervous system like it actually matters

Because it does. (Boy, does it!)

Rest, movement, time offline, proper conversation, laughter, moments of absorption in things that are beautiful or absorbing – these aren’t indulgences. They’re maintenance.

A dysregulated, exhausted mind isn’t more insightful or more ethical. It’s just knackered.

A steadier place to stand

None of this asks you to deny reality, disengage from the world, or pretend that things aren’t complicated or concerning.

It’s simply an invitation to stop carrying more than you were ever meant – or designed to, and to relate to what’s happening in a way that allows you to stay clear-headed, compassionate, and intact.

If you’ve been feeling unsettled, heavy, or quietly overwhelmed by the state of things, you’re not alone – and you’re certainly not failing, you’re just a human being in a new era. You’re noticing, and that matters..

With a little intention, it’s possible to keep noticing without losing your mind.

 

If you’d like to explore this further

Over the years, a number of writers, researchers and practitioners have explored different aspects of what it means to stay sane, grounded and human in a noisy, accelerated world. If any of this resonated, you might find these useful starting points for your own wandering/rabbit holes:

Dr Stephen Porges talks briefly about the Polyvagal Theory: How being in constant high alert affects our ability to make good decisions, particularly when relating to others.

Stop Reading The News:  A book with a different take on dealing with world affairs from Rolf Dobelli

The Reuters Digital News Report 2025: One for you data lovers out there – how we consume news.

Brick: One practical change I’ve made recently is using a device called Brick, which physically blocks access to certain apps when I choose. As someone with ADHD, it’s been a surprisingly effective way of regulating how information enters my day – not by willpower, but by design.

Alan Moore in Conversation with Stewart Lee: found in the rabbit hole I mentioned earlier.