The sun beats down on a cracked parking lot outside a shuttered mall. It’s been converted into a temporary relief center after a major storm. Cots line the edges of the old storefronts, volunteers move briskly, and the smell of diesel generators fills the air. A sign taped to a folding table reads, “Next time, we’ll be ready.” But even as the last residents pack up to leave, most planners are already asking: What if next time is bigger? What if it’s worse? What if it’s the Big One?
The Tyranny of the “Next Big One”
Emergency management has long been haunted by the specter of the “Next Big One.” Whether it’s a Category 5 hurricane, a cascading cyberattack, or a nationwide grid failure, the concept is seductive. It commands headlines, justifies grant proposals, and shapes the tone of every tabletop exercise.
But this obsession also narrows our vision. When every conversation centers on the catastrophic outlier, we risk building systems that look prepared on paper but crumble under pressure in real life.
Think about the city that holds annual “mega-quake” drills but neglects its failing storm drains—or the agency that spends millions on cutting-edge simulation software while its radios still don’t connect across departments. These aren’t hypotheticals; they’re patterns seen across the country. The fixation on the spectacular blinds us to the slow leaks, the aging infrastructure, and the social fractures that actually define vulnerability.
The Cost of Catastrophic Thinking
Disaster funding and attention tend to follow spectacle. The aftermath of a massive hurricane draws cameras, donations, and high-level briefings. Meanwhile, communities quietly pummeled by chronic flooding, power outages, or opioid deaths wait in the wings—underfunded, underreported, and increasingly exhausted.
This imbalance creates a performative cycle: we build plans for the improbable while tripping over the inevitable. Preparedness becomes a showpiece, something to check off for compliance or reputation management, rather than a lived practice rooted in everyday systems.
I once heard a county emergency manager say, “We’re great at responding to things that make the news. We’re not as good at fixing the stuff that never does.” Her community had endured six small floods in two years—none of them “declared disasters,” yet the cumulative toll had hollowed out entire neighborhoods. Her insight stuck with me. Catastrophic thinking may make us feel strategic, but it can quietly erode the very resilience it claims to build.
The Psychology Behind It
Our fixation on the “Next Big One” isn’t just institutional—it’s neurological. Humans are drawn to drama because it feels like control through anticipation. Catastrophic risk activates our amygdala, our brain’s early warning system, which primes us to act. The mundane, by contrast, barely registers.
That’s why we buy insurance after a friend’s house burns down, but ignore the slow rise of our own basement mold. It’s why local leaders can fill a town hall when discussing an active shooter drill but struggle to attract ten people to a session on community mental health. The scale of the event isn’t what matters—it’s the emotional salience.
In many ways, the “Next Big One” comforts us. It’s clean, defined, and finite. We can plan for it, model it, and imagine its end. What we can’t easily imagine is the endless churn of smaller disruptions—the ones that never make the news but steadily wear down trust, health, and cohesion. That’s where the real work lies, and it’s far less glamorous.
The Opportunity in the Everyday
True resilience doesn’t come from predicting the biggest threat—it comes from strengthening the ordinary. The communities that bounce back fastest after disasters are rarely the best funded or most technologically advanced. They’re the ones where people know their neighbors, local leaders communicate clearly, and systems work even when the lights don’t.
Investing in public health, reliable local communications, and mental health support is not “soft” preparedness—it’s the backbone of it. A small town in Vermont proved this after severe flooding: when roads were impassable, residents used their volunteer fire radio network to coordinate rescues and deliver medicine. No grant-funded technology, no federal coordination—just trust and practice.
If we can shift our mindset from “What if it’s the Big One?” to “How do we function better every day?”, preparedness stops being an act of fear and becomes one of empowerment.
Imagine. Months later, that same cracked parking lot has been repaved. The storefronts are filled again—some with small businesses, others with community programs. There’s no banner this time about the “Next Big One.” Instead, there’s a quiet confidence that the town can handle whatever comes its way, not because it predicted the disaster, but because it strengthened its resources and its people. The real test of preparedness isn’t how ready we are for the unthinkable—it’s how well we’ve prepared for the everyday.
Dan Stoneking is the Owner and Principal of Stoneking Strategic Communications, the Author of Cultivate Your Garden: Crisis Communications from 30,000 Feet to Three Feet, the Founder and Vice President of the Emergency Management External Affairs Association, and an Adjunct Professor in the Communications Department at West Chester University.