The Great Reset: Rethinking the Storm! What If Chaos Is the Real Calm?

Image credit, El Mehdi Rezkellah

The saying “it’s the calm before the storm” evokes a sense of dread, a warning that moments of peace may be fleeting preludes to chaos. This phrase has shaped how we anticipate crises and perceive the rhythm of life. But what if we’ve misunderstood it? What if the storm is not disruption but renewal—a different kind of calm? History and experience suggest this reversal is worth considering.

Humanity often sees conflict and upheaval as destructive forces, shattering the illusion of stability. Wars, revolutions, and economic collapses are typically framed as interruptions to progress, periods of disorder before the return of order. Yet, in retrospect, such periods have been moments of transformation. They dismantled outdated systems, cleared space for innovation, and redefined the future.

The Great Depression, for instance, was a time of immense suffering, yet it spurred the New Deal and reshaped the role of government in safeguarding society. The civil rights movement of the 1960s, marked by protests and violence, was tumultuous but broke the grip of systemic injustice, leading to legislative progress. These storms were not merely interruptions—they were the catalysts for lasting change.

This reinterpretation resonates deeply with contemporary discussions about the Great Reset, which envisions rethinking global systems in response to crises like the COVID-19 pandemic. For some, this reset represents an opportunity for progress; for others, it stirs fear of imposed changes. Seen through a different lens, it might be neither threat nor salvation but an invitation to rebuild what is broken—a moment when disruption becomes possibility.

On a personal level, this perspective offers a way to understand the struggles we face. Loss, failure, and uncertainty are often seen as destructive forces. Yet they can strip away pretense, forcing growth and self-discovery. What we perceive as calm may in fact be stagnation, while the chaos we resist can create space for something more authentic.

Perhaps our mistake lies in assuming calm is inherently good and storms inherently bad. In truth, calm can mask systemic flaws, while upheaval often reveals deeper truths. The challenge lies not in avoiding crises but in navigating them with the understanding that they often clear the way for something better.

If we rethink the relationship between calm and storms, we might find a strange solace in the turmoil, recognizing it as an agent of renewal. The calm before the storm, then, might not be a warning but a signal to prepare for transformation. What feels like chaos may hold the seeds of clarity, and what we dread might lead to the creation of something profoundly new. Perhaps the storm is not the enemy of calm but its beginning.