Nobody likes upheaval.
Change is exhausting. It’s inconvenient. It disrupts routines, forces hard decisions, and demands effort most people don’t have time for. So when someone warns that the food system is fragile—that industrial agriculture is unsustainable, that supply chains are vulnerable, that the way we get our food will change—most people don’t want to hear it.
Because if that’s true, then it means responsibility. It means adapting. It means stepping outside of what’s comfortable.
And frankly, most people would rather not.
That’s understandable. The current system, for all its flaws, is predictable. Grocery stores are stocked. Fast food is cheap. The average person doesn’t have to think about where their food comes from, how it’s grown, or what happens if the system falters.
But here’s the problem: systems don’t ask permission before they fail.
For decades, industrial agriculture has promised abundance. It has assured us that food will always be available, that efficiency will keep prices low, that technology will solve any problem that arises. And for a long time, those promises seemed solid.
But cracks are forming.
Extreme weather is disrupting harvests. Supply chains are stretched thin. The cost of food is rising, not just because of inflation, but because the system itself is struggling to maintain the illusion of stability.
And when that illusion finally shatters—when the grocery store shelves don’t refill overnight, when the price of eggs triples, when the food you’ve always relied on suddenly isn’t there—what then?
Most people don’t think about food security until they experience scarcity firsthand.
It’s easy to dismiss warnings about system fragility when everything looks fine. But history tells us that when collapse comes, it comes fast. The pandemic was a perfect example: one day, everything was normal. The next, people were panic-buying, hoarding, and realizing—too late—that they had no backup plan.
And here’s the uncomfortable truth: the next crisis won’t be the same. It won’t be temporary supply chain disruptions or short-term shortages. It will be deeper, longer-lasting, and harder to recover from.
Because the industrial food system isn’t just struggling—it’s reaching its limits.
When the system breaks, there are only two choices:
- Scramble for whatever’s left. Wait until the crisis is undeniable, then react in desperation—competing for dwindling resources, paying exorbitant prices, and hoping someone else figures out a solution.
- Prepare before the crisis hits. Recognize that change is coming and take small, manageable steps to build resilience—learning where food comes from, supporting local producers, and creating personal food security before it becomes a necessity.
This isn’t about ideology. It’s not about convincing anyone to become a farmer or abandon modern conveniences. It’s about recognizing that when the system breaks—and history shows that it will—the people who have built alternatives won’t be the ones panicking.
Nobody wants to believe that the food system they rely on could fail. But ignoring the possibility doesn’t prevent it—it just ensures that when failure comes, it will be a shock.
So the real question isn’t whether change is necessary. It’s whether you want to be caught off guard when it happens.
Because when the upheaval comes, it won’t wait for you to be ready.
