Some days it feels like we're living permanently on the brink. Newspaper feeds and Facebook scrolls are like an endless obituary wall. Overnight, accidents and tragedies rob lives without warning. The message is constant: life is fragile, live for the now. But instead of comfort, this constant reminder feeds a creeping anxiety.

Sixty years ago, in July 1965, Barry McGuire's Eve of Destruction warned of war's dark clouds. It captured the tensions of a world teetering under the weight of nuclear threat, racial strife, the Vietnam War, and generational unrest. What's striking is its resonance today. The specifics have shifted but the underlying feeling remains eerily familiar: a perception that the "eve" is always just ahead, and that destruction is no longer an abstract fear but a lived possibility.

As my friend and colleague Prof. Michael Briguglio noted in this newspaper recently, we're angrier and more impatient, especially on the roads. Gridlock, closures, and a surge in cars fuel road rage. Roads feel more like battlegrounds, patrolled by rebels without a cause on a highway to hell. The result? More accidents, more frustration.

Anxiety isn't just felt, it's sung about. "Anxiety, keep on tryin' me... can't shake it off of me," sings Doechii. Back in 2017, I wrote about youth anxiety, linking it to self-reliance and the pressures of contemporary life. Today, the story has shifted. It's not just that anxiety is rising but fear and tension have become constant, bringing with it increase bouts of mental distress especially amongst youth. Our social media feeds magnify the ugly, often sensationalising it, creating what sociologists call a "risk society", or perhaps now, a riskier society.

The term "risk society" comes from German sociologist Ulrich Beck who wrote that modern life is increasingly organised around anticipating, managing, and distributing risks. In traditional societies, threats were often external and tangible: famine, disease, war. In today's world, risks are more global, complex, and often invisible until they strike.

What makes the risk society unique is not just the presence of risk, but its visibility and amplification. Media and social platforms turn localised misfortunes into global spectacles within minutes. Our feeds create what Beck called a culture of fear, where people perceive the world as more dangerous than statistical reality may support. We are not merely living in a risk society, we are thinking in one. In this environment, anxiety isn't just a by-product, it's a social force. People adjust behaviour based on perceived threats by distrusting strangers and increased levels of individuality.  

Another by-product of this risk feeling is the intensification of the mantra "live for the now". This mantra feels liberating in a world where tomorrow is never guaranteed. But sociologists warn that when the present becomes our only horizon, long-term thinking erodes. This pushes us toward short-term gratification, spending instead of saving, reacting instead of planning, consuming instead of conserving.

The danger is subtle but corrosive. A society fixated on the now struggles with commitments, to relationships, to communities, to future generations. Environmental issues and infrastructure suffer when we treat the future as someone else's problem. Politically, it fosters populism and quick fixes over sustained reform. Personally, it can lead to burnout, debt, and the hollow chase of constant novelty.

Living for the now can help us cherish life. But when the present becomes an escape from thinking about the future, it turns from a philosophy into a trap.

And yet, not all is doom and gloom. I hope this holiday month offered readers a chance to exhale, to relax, unwind, and reclaim a little calm before the next wave of worry. Soon enough, September will loom, school gates will swing open, and the familiar hustle will return. Oh, how I loathed, as a child, that dread at the start of another school year. The uneasy knot in the stomach of uncertainties, as mid-September seemed to snatch away the last days of summer's freedom.