Lachesism n. the desire to be struck by disaster—to survive a plane crash, to lose everything in a fire, to plunge over a waterfall—which would put a kink in the smooth arc of your life, and forge it into something hardened and flexible and sharp, not just a stiff prefabricated beam that barely covers the gap between one end of your life and the other.
That perverse thought that creeps up on you in the worst moment. At the red traffic light of an intersection—what if I just stepped on my gas pedal? On the top level of a shopping mall, looking down at the first floor—what if I jumped down?
Intrusive thoughts, the “Call of the void,” the “High Place Phenomenon, and l’appel du vide in French, all refer to this feeling of self-sabotage. According to April Smith, an associate professor of psychology at Miami University, this phenomenon is pretty normal. It’s an alarm signal from your brain to be careful.
Lachesism, however, takes it a step further:
And while your brain goes numb trying to shake off your complacency, your heart can’t sit still, and your gut is hungry for chaos—itching to chase after storms and run headlong into the fire. To watch society breakdown and find out what’s truly important and watch everything else fall away.
The apocalypse is one of the oldest fantasies we have, but it’s not about skipping to the end of the story. It’s a longing for revelation, a revealing of what we already know, but cannot see: that none of this is guaranteed and there is no such thing as “ordinary life.”
…But soon the storm will pass, and the world will go on spinning, and we’ll pick up our lives just where we left them, no more urgently than before. After all, it’s just life. It’s not the end of the world.”
Here’s a perverse secret: I used to want to experience a school shooting that left everyone unharmed. For the thrill of it, maybe. But also to understand what true danger feels like without any real consequences, to be awakened from everyday mundanity, to be reminded that existence is fleeting and I should appreciate it more. This scenario—like the apocalyptic, dystopian, and cyberpunk media I consume—is a fantasy, and yet they make me feel so human.
Hamish Dalley, an assistant professor of world literature at Daemen College, would argue that Lachesism is a fantasy by settlers to preserve their own futurity and disavow the violence of settler colonialism:
We dream instead of ends, imagining worlds without us, thinking of what it would be like not to be. But at every moment we know that that the dream is nothing but a dream; we know we will awake and still be here, unchanged, unchanging, living on, forever. Thus settlers persist even beyond the moment of extinction they thought they wanted to arrive.
By imagining apocalypse scenarios, we—those privileged enough to imagine destruction as hypothetical instead of our present condition—assert our vulnerability instead of challenging the “material, political, constitutional, [and] practical” structures that lock us in perpetual inequity.
But what happens when disaster actually strikes? The pandemic has changed our lives permanently. It gave some of us an excuse to cut off the toxic people in our lives, the time to rediscover art, the miracle of collective action. However, I recognize the privilege in this statement. While COVID-19 has awakened us to the reality of mother nature and exposed the hubris of humankind, it has also caused so much destruction and pain for those who have been affected directly and indirectly.
But perhaps this pain was already present, and has now been brought to the surface; many of those hurt were already in vulnerable communities. Vaccine inequity, for instance, has highlighted the gap between the First and Third Worlds, calling for increased international cooperation. Trump’s mishandling of the pandemic was enough to swing some American voters to Biden’s side as the negative effects of his policies began to directly affect them.
Disaster as a precursor for change seems to be the theme of the past year. The killing of George Floyd launched a series of protests and interrogations of America’s anti-black structural racism. The Atlanta spa shootings reflected (and for many, revealed) the complex intersectional experience of being an Asian woman, and its historical legacy. No doubt, we will emerge out of the pandemic with a different conscience.
Yet, if you ask me, “would you rather live in a world without COVID-19 and the recent killings of Black Americans and Asian women?,” my first instinct would be yes. But if I chew on the question for a little longer, there’s that growing inkling of hope within me that things will change for the better.
I like thrill: roller coasters, ziplining, jumping from tall ledges, you name it. I crave the physical sensation of my stomach dropping and air rushing past my body, the awareness that life is ephemeral so I might as well send it. However, I wouldn’t say I love risk. As an introvert, I’m uncomfortable by seemingly minor social situations. Sometimes, I even dread catching up with an old friend—but when I do, I’m always surprised by how smoothly we slip into our old ways, conversation taking its natural course.
Recently, I caught up with two younger friends who are still in high school. Their worries and desires reflected their naivete, bringing me back to my own mindset from a few years back. Having never gotten a proper high school graduation or a senior trip, I used to want closure. I refused to let go of my senior year, and I still feel like I’m seventeen. But growing up is not determined by lavish celebrations, vacations to tropical islands with friends, or the length of your existence. It’s looking back to the last few years and seeing how all your small experiences have accumulated, each nudging your worldview until your paradigm shifts.
In late June, an intense heatwave hit the Pacific Northwest, pushing temperatures up to 115 degrees Fahrenheit. The heat literally melted power lines, and my neighborhood’s power went out. Before, my biggest complaints would have been about not having air conditioning because our house was old and not being able to connect with friends both in-person and online. Now, I’m more concerned with the my city’s infrastructure: How will utility companies adopt to increased energy usage when more residents begin to install air conditioning? What more sustainable, resilient cooling alternatives to air conditioning are there? Will officials see the heatwave as an ad-hoc event, or will they prioritize dynamic emergency weather response in resilience planning?
✨ Monthly Favorites
- Book: Blockchain Chicken Farm: And Other Stories of Tech in China’s Countryside by Wang Xiaowei — stories about rural China, food, and tech that reveal new truths about the globalized world
- Article: “Eavesdropping Through a Pandemic” by Sarah Larson — Notes on a year and a half of overhearing what’s overlooked.
- Documentary: Shenzhen: The Silicon Valley of Hardware | Future Cities by WIRED Video — The film looks at how the evolution of “Shanzhai” – or copycat manufacturing – has transformed traditional models of business, distribution and innovation, and asks what the rest of the world can learn from this so-called “Silicon Valley of hardware”.
💫 Recent Life Updates
- I finally tried matcha and have decided that I’m a huge fan. My wallet, however, is not.
- I’ve been trying to make the most out of the PNW summer. Every weekend my family tries to have an outdoors activity, but it mostly ends up being just my parents and I, since my brother just wants to play video games. Even with friends, our hangouts are mostly outside.