If we had the ability to travel back in time and come face to face with a younger version of ourselves, what would we find?

What do we already know about ourselves back then?

What kind of person were we in our late teens?
Our early twenties?

Did we act similarly to who we are today, or were we entirely different back then?

Were you basically the same person you are now, just a tad less experienced?

Did you approach life with too much confidence?

Were you distracted by things that aren’t even a thought in your life today?

Were you superficial?

Did you possess an unusual degree of motivation and direction?

Or did you have an unhealthy level of optimism that life would eventually humble?

What would the version of you today tell the younger version of yourself if you could?

Would you even attempt to enlighten your younger self, or would you worry about the long-term consequences and the possibility of reshaping events that could never be undone?

I think one thing most of us can agree on is this: if we were to come face to face with a less informed version of ourselves, we’d recognize just how much we didn’t know then compared to what we know now.
We have enough perspective to recognize that who we are today is a more experienced and knowledgeable version of ourselves.
Few would dispute that time has a way of teaching us. As we move through life, our experiences shape our perspective, and the understanding we gain from them becomes wisdom.
At the same time, we also have to acknowledge something else. The more knowledge we accumulate, the easier it becomes to mistake familiarity for certainty.
We begin viewing the world through a framework built from our own experiences, and anything that exists outside that framework becomes easier to dismiss. We settle into our beliefs, grow comfortable with our conclusions, and sometimes place more confidence in our understanding than our understanding actually deserves.
There is nothing inherently wrong with having a belief system. There is nothing wrong with developing convictions or personal preferences as we mature. In many ways, experience is one of life’s greatest teachers. The lessons we live through often leave a far deeper impression than the ones we simply read about.
If you had asked me in my mid twenties what disaster preparedness meant, I probably would have pictured underground bunkers, stockpiles of canned food, and people wearing tinfoil hats.
Then life gave me a broader perspective.
I eventually realized that preparedness isn’t about expecting the end of the world. It’s about recognizing that disruptions, emergencies, and unexpected hardships are an unavoidable part of life. The question isn’t whether something will happen. The question is whether you’ll be ready when it does.
Even knowing that, I also understand the reaction this subject tends to provoke.
As a general rule, I would not recommend bringing it up with just anyone.
People are often uncomfortable preparing for uncertainty. Some laugh it off. Others assume you’ve fallen down an internet rabbit hole or watched one alarming video too many. They mistake preparation for paranoia because they associate planning with fear instead of responsibility.
Think back to the pandemic.
Very few people anticipated how dramatically everyday life would change. Information emerged gradually, mixed with uncertainty, conflicting opinions, and reassurances that there was little reason for concern. By the time many people recognized the seriousness of what was unfolding, they no longer had the luxury of preparing the way they would have preferred.
Preparation is almost always easier before an event than during one.
The challenge is convincing ourselves that uncertainty alone is reason enough to prepare, even when everyone else insists there’s nothing to worry about.

As I was researching deeper into disaster preparedness, I started noticing something I couldn’t ignore.
Preparedness has developed an aesthetic.
Suddenly, it wasn’t just about learning practical skills, building resilience, or creating backup plans.
It had become content.
You know the accounts I’m talking about.
Perfectly organized pantries.
Rows of matching containers.
Color coordinated storage bins stacked from floor to ceiling.
Beautiful labels.
Soft background music.
Someone effortlessly restocking shelves larger than most people’s apartments.
Before the first video ends, another one begins.
More bins.
More labels.
More products.
More affiliate links.
More discount codes.
I’m not criticizing the amount of work that goes into creating those spaces.
Organization takes discipline.
Planning takes intention.
There is real value in both.
But somewhere along the way, the image began overshadowing the purpose.
Preparedness slowly started looking less like resilience and more like home décor.
The problem is that most people watching those videos don’t live in homes with dedicated storage rooms and unlimited budgets.
They live in apartments.
They live paycheck to paycheck.
They’re raising children.
They’re paying bills.
They’re juggling responsibilities.
They’re already carrying enough stress without feeling like preparedness requires another expensive project.
When preparedness is presented through that lens, it becomes difficult to relate to.
Instead of inspiring action, it often creates distance.
People watch and think,
“I could never afford that.”
Or worse.
They begin believing preparedness itself is only for people with more money, more space, and more time.
But resilience has never belonged exclusively to wealthy people.
Some of the most resilient people I’ve ever met had very little.
They simply learned how to adapt.
How to solve problems.
How to function when life stopped cooperating.
Those aren’t things you can order online.
They’re things you develop.
That’s when I realized the conversation had drifted away from what mattered most.
The focus had shifted toward what people should buy instead of how people should think.
Because when systems fail, whether it’s a power outage, a severe storm, a supply shortage, job loss, or a family emergency, your ability to adapt matters far more than the appearance of your storage shelves.
Preparedness isn’t a collection of products.
It’s a mindset.
It’s understanding your vulnerabilities before they become emergencies.
It’s recognizing your dependencies before they become problems.
It’s creating options before you’re forced to make decisions without any.
The more I learned, the more I realized preparedness wasn’t really about disasters at all.
It was about uncertainty.
And uncertainty isn’t rare.
It’s part of life.
Every single one of us is preparing for something, whether we realize it or not.
Some people are preparing for retirement.
Some are preparing for parenthood.
Some are preparing for a career change.
Some are preparing for a diagnosis they hope never comes.
Some are simply trying to make it through the week.
Preparation exists on a spectrum.
We just tend to reserve the word “preparedness” for the most extreme examples.
Mention disaster preparedness, and most people immediately picture bunkers, gas masks, tactical gear, underground shelters, and enough freeze dried food to survive three apocalypses.
Meanwhile, they overlook the fact that they already practice preparedness every day.
Insurance is preparedness.
Savings accounts are preparedness.
Smoke detectors are preparedness.
Seat belts are preparedness.
A spare tire is preparedness.
Extra batteries in a junk drawer are preparedness.
We prepare for uncertainty constantly.
We just call it different things depending on the situation.
That realization became the foundation for something much bigger than I expected.
It eventually became the foundation for Xpendibles.

The Xpendibles is something special, and it’s not just reserved for a specific group of people.  It’s for everyone at any stage of preparedness. 

Soft-Core Survivor Seal of Approval.