Category Archives: The Evidentialism Files

Why We Doomscroll


It starts with good intentions.

You just want to check the news—see what’s happening in the world. A heatwave in Europe. A new virus strain. Some Supreme Court ruling that feels like a plot twist from “Black Mirror.” You tell yourself: Just five minutes. Just one article.

But an hour later, you’re 42 headlines deep, your jaw is tight, your thumb aches, and the world feels like it’s teetering on the edge of collapse.

Welcome to doomscrolling, the national pastime of the anxious and informed.

Why do we do it? Blame evolution. Humans are wired to seek out threats. In prehistoric times, paying attention to danger was a survival strategy. Those who ignored the tiger in the bushes didn’t get a second chance.

Fast forward a few millennia, and we’re still scanning the horizon—only now it’s a screen, and the tigers are algorithms optimized to trigger panic.

Psychologists call it negativity bias: the tendency to give more weight to bad news than good. That’s why one tragic headline can overshadow ten heartwarming ones. It’s why we read every update about the economy crashing or the planet heating or democracy eroding—but can’t recall a single positive news story from last week.

It’s not just that bad news gets our attention. It feels responsible to keep scrolling. In an age of crisis fatigue, staying informed has become a kind of civic duty.

But there’s a difference between awareness and obsession. Doomscrolling isn’t about gathering useful information. It’s about feeding anxiety under the illusion of control.

The thinking goes: If I just read one more article, maybe I’ll understand it better. Maybe I’ll feel less helpless.

But the opposite happens. The more we scroll, the more powerless we feel.

And that’s by design. Social media algorithms reward emotional engagement—especially outrage, fear, and despair. These platforms don’t care what you’re feeling, as long as you’re feeling something. So they serve up a never-ending buffet of crisis and chaos, one thumb-flick at a time.

The result? A burned-out public. Rising rates of anxiety and depression. A generation that knows how the world ends but struggles to enjoy how it lives.

There’s a solution, but it’s not easy. It starts with recognizing that doomscrolling is not the same thing as being informed. You don’t need to consume misery to be a good citizen.

Try reading one in-depth article instead of thirty headlines. Schedule when you check the news, and stop letting it invade your peace at 2 a.m. Touch something real—grass, a dog, a human being. Remember your body. Remember joy.

Because the world isn’t only on fire. It’s also blooming. But you’ll miss the flowers if your eyes are glued to the smoke.

Still

comparatively Still

The world opens
like a palm
facing sky.
Each shadow
makes room
for your shape.

A tree leans
to hold the air
you stirred.
Its bark hums
with stories.

Time rests.
Its spine uncoils
across the earth.

Something—
call it grace,
call it animal—
meets your gaze
and stays.

You remain.
Rooted.
Whole.
Known
by everything
with eyes,
and everything
without.

Every sound,
every inward.
Every wingbeat
joins your breath.

Every grain
claims you.
And all of it
says yes.

Graceless Guests

Graceless Guests

We don’t deserve this planet, and she knows it.
She’s watched us pave the orchards,
drain the rivers like warm beer,
name every mountain after a man
who never climbed it.

But still she throws a sunrise like dice
and lets light land
on all of us.
Even the bastards.

The trees don’t fret who planted them.
They just grow.
The birds don’t care who’s listening.
They just sing.

And the dirt?
The dirt keeps catching us
when we fall face-first
from our own cleverness.

She should’ve thrown us out
like cigarette ash,
but she keeps us around—
maybe out of habit,
maybe for the comedy.

Still, every now and then,
a child plants a seed,
a drunk returns a stray dog,
a man writes a poem
without knowing why.

And she sighs,
a little softer,
as if to say,
“Close, kid.
Try again tomorrow.”