Cassandra Nation

Reading Time: 19 minutes

For years, I’ve contemplated breaking free from the addictive news cycle—a dependency of mine that surged in 2015 and worsened during the pandemic. I have been clean and sober since early November 2024. No more chasing that dragon. This decision wasn’t made lightly; it followed years of reflection and a growing realization that news consumption manipulates emotions, distorts priorities, stifles meaningful self-reflection, and achieves nothing. Most critically, it disrupts the deeper work of understanding my true sphere of influence—focusing on what I can realistically change.

Stepping away is a deliberate act of reclaiming my attention and aligning my actions with what truly matters. The first step in this journey is accepting a hard truth: our individual power to shape global events is vanishingly small, despite what cultural narratives may insist. At best, we have a vote—and we need not follow every injustice around the globe to inform that decision.

The news functions as a carrot on a stick—promising empowerment but delivering none. It manipulates with outrage and fear, draining energy while offering no actionable value. In the attention economy, you’re not the customer; you’re the product, your attention resold to the highest bidder. 

This is apparently a growing trend, as more people simultaneously recognize the problem. Some argue that the news is a waste of time, inducing unnecessary anxiety and harm. Others counter, insisting that the news is instead toxic—a staggering waste of time that inflicts extreme, utterly pointless anguish, coupled with profound emotional trauma with absolutely zero benefit. Here, we will examine these two competing perspectives in depth.

Cassandra’s Curse: A Mythological Parallel

Cassandra, a Trojan princess in Greek mythology, was granted the gift of foresight by Apollo, the Greek god of prophecy and truth, who hoped to bonk her. However, she rebuffed him. Annoyed, but bound by the gods’ unyielding rule of “no take-backsies,” he twisted the gift into a curse: Cassandra would keep her visions, but no one would ever believe her, turning what should have been a blessing into a lifelong torment.

At the top I’ve included a picture, “Cassandra” by Evelyn De Morgan (1898), which captures the torment of knowledge without influence. In the painting, Cassandra tears her hair as Troy burns in the background, powerless to stop the destruction she foresaw. To her left is the infamous wooden horse, a symbol of the Greeks’ deceit, and on the ground, blood-red flowers evoke the tragedy of her unheeded warnings. She is forever depicted as tormented, driven mad by the stark opposition between her knowledge and the absence of agency—her futile wish for influence.

Her foresight became a torment. She saw horrors to come, including her own death and that of her family, yet she was powerless to prevent them. Cassandra’s agony lay not in her knowledge itself, but in its futility. She watched helplessly as the inevitable unfolded, her warnings falling on deaf ears.

This dissonance between knowledge and agency reveals a profound truth about the human condition: knowing does not equal controlling. Even if others had believed Cassandra, it is unclear whether her foresight alone could have changed the course of events. Her warnings collided with forces too vast for her to influence—divine will, mortal hubris, and the relentless momentum of fate.

Like Cassandra, we too are inundated with glimpses of the future and constant highlights of the endless injustices around the globe—climate crises, political upheaval, economic instability—yet remain largely powerless to influence the trajectories we see unfolding. The constant stream of information creates the illusion of engagement but offers no meaningful path to action. Like Cassandra, we are left shouting into the void, our emotional energy drained by events far beyond our control.

Arjuna: Another Perspective on the Scope of Agency

Arjuna, a warrior prince in Hindu mythology, faced a moral crisis that offers a striking parallel to Cassandra’s torment. Preparing to lead his forces into battle, he faltered—not because of inevitability, but because of the crushing weight of choice. The opposing army was filled with family, friends, and mentors. How could he fulfill his duty as a warrior when it meant destroying the people he loved?

In the Bhagavad Gita, Krishna, a god and Arjuna’s charioteer, reframes the dilemma. He reveals time and duty as forces far greater than individual struggles, reminding Arjuna that the outcomes of the battle are already decided. His role is not to control these outcomes but to act with clarity and purpose, aligning with his dharma—his sacred duty as a warrior.

Krishna’s wisdom challenges the illusion of control over fate. He urges Arjuna to accept the inevitability of life’s impermanence and act deliberately within his limited sphere of influence. This shift transforms Arjuna’s paralysis into a call to purposeful action rooted in acceptance rather than despair.

कालोऽस्मि लोकक्षयकृत्प्रवृद्धो

लोकान्समाहर्तुमिह प्रवृत्तः।

ऋतेऽपि त्वां न भविष्यन्ति सर्वे

येऽवस्थिताः प्रत्यनीकेषु योधाः।

Robert Oppenheimer famously paraphrased Krishna’s words from Sanskrit as, “Now I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds.” However, this is a poor translation. A more accurate rendering is: “Behold, I now assume the form of time, the world-devouring force, engaged in the destruction of all people. Even without your participation, all the warriors stationed in opposing ranks shall cease to exist.” Or, more succinctly “Arjuna, buddy, you know, in the grand sceme of things…”

This haunting statement raises a profound question: What was Krishna truly saying, and why?

Krishna reminds Arjuna that time is a relentless, all-consuming force that spares no one. The warriors Arjuna agonizes over are already destined to die; death is inevitable and beyond his control. What lies within Arjuna’s control, Krishna explains, is his response. By aligning with his dharma—his sacred duty as a warrior—Arjuna can act with clarity and purpose, accepting the impermanence of life while fulfilling his role in the cosmic order. The scope of time renders all efforts, including Arjuna’s, ultimately inconsequential in the grand scheme of things.

Krishna’s message is not about detachment from humanity, but about embracing a broader understanding of time and existence. It challenges the illusion of control over fate, emphasizing the importance of deliberate, purposeful action within one’s limited sphere of influence. This wisdom transforms Arjuna’s paralysis into a call to meaningful action, rooted in acceptance rather than despair.

Advice from the Ancient Greeks: Γνῶθι σεαυτόν

Above the entrance to the Temple of Apollo at Delphi, the Greeks inscribed the phrase Γνῶθι σεαυτόν (Gnōthi seauton, “Know thyself”). Often misunderstood today as a call to limitless self-empowerment or introspection, its original intent was more grounded: a caution against hubris and a reminder to recognize human limitations within the grand cosmic order. Rooted in Greek values of moderation and self-awareness, it urged individuals to align with their place in the world, avoiding excessive pride or overreach.

This wisdom feels strikingly relevant in today’s media-saturated world. Flooded with information, we impose upon ourselves the burden of omniscience, mistaking it for empowerment. Yet this deluge of irrelevant and unactionable knowledge leads only to futility and despair, as so much of it lies far beyond our ability to influence.

Could Apollo have intended this lesson for Cassandra? The phrase Gnōthi seauton offers a potential path out of her torment. By knowing herself—her limits, her role, and the futility of her foresight—Cassandra might have found peace. Her tragedy lay not only in her knowledge but in her inability to detach from outcomes she could not change.

Was it even necessary for Apollo to strip her of influence? Could she ever have wielded it? Even the gods in Greek mythology cannot change the inevitable. Seen through this lens, Apollo’s curse might even be viewed as instructive. His harsh lesson forced Cassandra to confront a fundamental truth: knowing one’s limits is as important as knowing the future. With this clarity, her foresight could have guided her toward focusing her energy where it truly mattered.

What Krishna Could Have Taught Cassandra

Had Cassandra received guidance akin to Krishna’s, her story might have unfolded differently. Krishna’s philosophy of detachment might have freed her from despair. By releasing her sense of responsibility for the inevitable, she could have reframed her foresight as insight rather than control. As a truth-teller, her role could have been to share what she knew without attachment to whether she was heeded.

Krishna reminds us that peace comes not from controlling the uncontrollable but from focusing on deliberate action within one’s sphere of influence. His philosophy challenges us to accept our limits while finding purpose within them. For Cassandra, this shift in perspective could have transformed her torment into clarity.

Still, the inscription above Apollo’s temple remains instructive: “Know thyself.” Understand your place in the grand order of things. You are not a god.

Commentary on the Universal Struggle

The comparison between Apollo and Krishna reveals two contrasting approaches to the burdens of knowledge. Apollo’s lesson is harsh, forcing Cassandra to confront her helplessness. In contrast, Krishna offers a liberating perspective, transforming knowledge into meaningful action by acknowledging the boundaries of individual power. His wisdom reminds us: peace is found not in controlling outcomes, but in aligning with what lies within our power to change.

Ultimately, कालोऽस्मि लोकक्षयकृत्प्रवृद्धो and Γνῶθι σεαυτόν share a similarity. Both teachings emphasize perspective and the necessity of recognizing the limits of one’s agency. They guide us toward acceptance and meaningful action within the scope of what we can truly influence.

Modern Parallels: The Curse of Unactionable Knowledge

Cassandra’s tragedy was not merely her foresight, but her fixation on outcomes she could not change. Her knowledge of Troy’s fall could not prevent it, nor could it save her family. Yet this knowledge did not rob her of all agency—her fatal error lay in allowing the inevitability of disaster to overshadow what was still within her control.

Cassandra’s daughters were always mortal, and their eventual deaths were inevitable—a universal truth made unbearable by the cruel precision of her foresight. It was as if she saw the forest, was shown the trees, and suddenly found herself unable to see the forest for the trees. Rather than focusing on the broader reality of their lives and cherishing the moments that remained, she became consumed by the grim details of their fates. By reframing her foresight not as control, but as clarity, Cassandra might have found peace within her limited power. This missed opportunity serves as a poignant reminder of how despair often blinds us to the agency we still possess.

Today, many of us share Cassandra’s plight. Burdened by knowledge of crises far beyond our influence, we feel powerless to act meaningfully. The relentless news cycle exacerbates this torment, preying on our sense of justice and concern. The news, like Cassandra’s curse, keeps us fixated on inevitable disasters, creating the illusion of engagement while offering no meaningful path to action. Media outlets profit by capturing and reselling our attention, while offering little in the way of solutions. Like Apollo’s curse on Cassandra, the media’s hunger for revenue exploits our knowledge without providing agency.

Yet, unlike Cassandra, we have tools to escape this trap. The ancients wrestled with the same struggle and offered us a pathway forward: focus on what lies within your sphere of influence, act with purpose, and detach from outcomes beyond your control. Know thyself.

These Are Philosophies

These mythological characters are symbolic manifestations of philosophical thought, tools for understanding the human condition. The ideas they embody—knowledge without influence, duty amidst inevitability, and the importance of self-awareness—are timeless reflections of challenges humanity has grappled with since the dawn of written thought. No one, to my knowledge, worships the statue of Justice in a courtroom, even though its placement and form echo ancient temples. It is iconography of a principle.

Cassandra represents the burden of foresight and the dissonance between knowledge and agency. Arjuna is shown the vastness of time—a perspective that, in our context, mirrors the overwhelming scale of horrors we are exposed to on a global stage.

This is not a new problem. These stories are ancient attempts to articulate ideas through metaphors that resonate even today. By stripping away the supernatural, we can focus on the underlying philosophies and their application to modern struggles, such as reclaiming agency and purpose in a world overwhelmed by information.

What The Stoics Might Suggest

Epictetus, in The Enchiridion, stresses the importance of distinguishing between what is within our control and what lies outside of it. For the Stoics, external events—whether news of global crises or the opinions of others—are beyond our influence and should not dominate our attention. Instead, they urge us to focus on what is truly ours: our judgments, actions, and character.

Seneca warns against allowing external distractions to invade and disrupt the clarity of the mind. In Letters to Lucilius, he advises us to be selective about what we consume, as our thoughts and time are finite resources. The Stoics would likely view the modern news cycle as a form of mental pollution, a constant barrage of outrage designed to provoke rather than enlighten.

The Stoics emphasize amor fati—the love of fate—as a way to accept the unfolding of events beyond our control. Marcus Aurelius, in Meditations, reminds us that the universe has its own order, and our task is not to rail against it but to live virtuously within it. This acceptance is not passive resignation but an active embrace of life’s challenges, using them as opportunities for growth and resilience.

Seneca’s essay On the Shortness of Life reminds us that much of our life is wasted on distractions, trivial pursuits, and the agendas of others. By reclaiming our time and focusing on purposeful living, we can truly own our lives. For instance, instead of agonizing over distant events, we might redirect our energy toward meaningful work or nurturing our closest relationships.

The Stoics prized tranquility (ataraxia), which comes from living in harmony with nature, accepting what is, and focusing on virtue. They recognized that constant exposure to negativity and chaos erodes peace, leaving us reactive rather than reflective.

To live according to nature, as the Stoics urged, is to align with reality, recognizing the impermanence of life and the inevitability of suffering. This philosophy encourages us to face these truths with courage and composure, rather than denial or overreaction.

The Stoics viewed wisdom as the highest virtue—knowing what is worth pursuing and what should be avoided. This wisdom is rooted in clarity about our limits and a commitment to deliberate, meaningful action within our sphere of influence.

As the Stoics remind us, not only that this is an ancient problem, but also that peace comes from focusing on what we can control—our judgments and actions—rather than external forces beyond our influence. Cassandra’s error, like ours, lies in conflating knowledge with agency.

The Attention Economy: A Systemic Reality

The attention economy isn’t a secret conspiracy—it’s a natural byproduct of how modern media operates. In a profit-driven system, media companies and platforms are incentivized to capture and monetize human attention. Their survival depends on engagement, not empowerment.

At its core, the attention economy thrives on a simple principle: the longer people stay engaged, the more revenue is generated. Media outlets harvest focus and sell it to advertisers, exploiting psychological triggers like outrage, fear, and sensationalism. Social media algorithms amplify this cycle by prioritizing provocative content that keeps users scrolling.

The consequences are damaging. Sensationalism erodes public understanding, favoring drama over nuance. Emotional manipulation fosters cycles of fear and outrage, leaving audiences anxious and exhausted. Instead of offering clarity or actionable insights, the system overwhelms us with problems we cannot solve.

Media companies don’t need to conspire; the incentives are clear—profit drives behavior. Yet this pursuit of engagement distorts our view of the world, amplifying extremes and creating confusion. Worst of all, it strips us of agency, trapping us in helplessness rather than empowering meaningful action.

Escaping the attention economy requires deliberate effort. Prioritize actionable, relevant information over sensationalism. Limit exposure to manipulative platforms. Focus energy on meaningful engagement and areas where you can truly make an impact. By doing so, we can reclaim our attention and break free from the cycle of outrage and distraction..

Junk Food for the Brain

Michael Crichton coined the “Murray Gell-Mann Amnesia Effect” to critique the news. He observed that when you read an article about a subject you know well, you quickly spot glaring errors, misunderstandings, and oversimplifications. Yet, when you turn the page to a topic you know less about, you instinctively trust the information, forgetting the incompetence you just witnessed.

This paradox highlights a core problem with the news: it is often incomplete, biased, or flat-out wrong. Journalists, hired for their looks, constrained by deadlines, limited expertise, and the pressure to generate clicks, frequently sacrifice accuracy for speed and sensationalism. Yet as consumers, we treat the news as authoritative—even after seeing its fallibility exposed.

Crichton’s point is simple but profound: news is frequently wrong, yet we behave as if it’s not the garbage it so often is. This habit skews our understanding of the world, undermines trust in our own judgment, and traps us in a reactive, rather than reflective, mindset. Recognizing the news’ fallibility is the first step toward breaking this cycle. Skepticism and discernment allow us to approach information more deliberately and avoid the trap of uncritical consumption.

A Firsthand Lesson in News Distortion

In the 1990s, I was in Prague, soaking in the city’s charm and wondrous beer. Police were stationed here and there, but nothing seemed unusual. Later, friends back home nervously asked, “Are you okay there?” Confused, I pressed for details and learned they’d seen reports of riots and mass protests in the city.

The chaos, as it turned out, amounted to a broken McDonald’s window—a staged spectacle for the press during a meaningless protest. It happened just a block from my hotel, yet I remained oblivious. The commotion lasted only as long as it took to film, then evaporated.

Turning on the news on our hotel television showed a city seemingly engulfed in flames and unrest. The reality outside our window? Calm, beautiful, and utterly unaffected. It was a vivid reminder of how the news distorts reality—magnifying trivial events into crises to fit a narrative and grab attention. The city wasn’t ablaze, but the footage needed you to believe it was. After all, without that illusion, the story was worthless.

Missing the Circus: Information Will Wait for You

Once, while traveling in Africa, I found myself blissfully cut off from the world. My French is non-existent, and nearly no one around spoke English. For two weeks, I was unaware of anything beyond my immediate surroundings.

On the flight home, the in-flight news summarized the dominant story I’d missed: the death of Princess Diana. In 30 seconds, the broadcast encapsulated the narrative that had consumed weeks of obsessive global coverage.

It struck me how little I’d missed, and how grateful I was to have missed it. While others had been inundated with endless updates, speculation, and commentary, I lived those two weeks unaffected and still learned the essential story in moments. This experience was a refreshing reminder: you don’t need the constant drip of the news cycle to understand the world’s events. Often, stepping away spares you the noise and delivers clarity with far less cost to your mental energy and focus.

Protests: The Opiate of the Masses*

When faced with relentless exposure to crises—racism, climate change, gun violence—the civic-minded feel an urgent need to act. The press amplifies these issues into insurmountable catastrophes, saturating us with horror and despair until we are desperate for an outlet. Protests often become that outlet: a way to feel engaged, to say, “We are doing something.” Yet, much like staying glued to the news, protests often offer the illusion of engagement rather than a path to meaningful change.

Protests without strategy or substance are performative. They provide a fleeting sense of solidarity and release but fail to confront the systems driving the crises they oppose. “We must do something,” becomes the rallying cry, even when that something accomplishes nothing. A protest without a plan is no better than “thoughts and prayers”—it offers fleeting comfort, a public display of caring, but no path to real solutions.

The media, of course, thrives on this cycle. Protests provide ready-made spectacles of outrage, easily packaged into stories that feed the attention economy. The focus is rarely on the protest’s goals or impact but on the drama of the moment: the size of the crowd, the most provocative signs, or the inevitable clash with authorities. Whether or not the protest has a plan, it fits neatly into the outrage-driven narrative that keeps us glued to our screens. Much like the news itself, protests have become another cog in the machine—something to watch, to share, to feel momentarily empowered by, but which rarely translates to change.

By recognizing this dynamic, we can step back and reclaim our attention from the media-driven spectacle. Just as stepping away from the news can restore our clarity, stepping back from protests-as-spectacle allows us to focus on deliberate, unglamorous work—the kind of quiet, persistent action that builds toward something lasting. Protests can be valuable, but only when they move beyond performance and become part of a larger strategy for meaningful change.

*Void in West Virginia, where opioids are the opiate of the masses.

What Should One Do?

Before engaging with any kind of information, you must first decide what you are willing and capable of doing about it. If there’s no clear answer to that question, consuming information for its own sake can become voyeuristic, a kind of passive rubbernecking of distant tragedies or disasters. Care alone does not make you an actively good person. Greta Thunberg will likely have zero effect, and you are not her. She has some influence, you have vitually none. So picking insurmountable goals to fixate on is just a way to avoid doing anything. It might feel like staying informed, but if it doesn’t lead to action or even preparation, it’s just draining energy for no purpose. This doesn’t mean you can ignore forces larger than yourself or pretend they don’t exist. Sometimes, stepping away isn’t an option—you might need to act, even if the action is simply getting out of harm’s way. Anne Frank’s story is a stark reminder of that reality.

Knowing when to act and when to hold steady isn’t just about having information—it’s about matching that information to your ability to respond. Awareness, on its own, isn’t enough. If it isn’t tied to preparation or action, it risks paralyzing you or pulling you into despair.

This isn’t an argument for ignorance. Awareness of the world’s vast and terrifying forces might one day save your life. But there’s a difference between awareness that prepares you and awareness that consumes you. Folowing day-to-day accomplishes nothing, other than saping your energy. Information should be a tool, not a weight. If you spend your energy immersing yourself in horrors you can’t change or fight, you’re not preserving the strength you might need when something you can act on appears. You won’t even recognize it, because you will have never contemplated what you can do.

The balance lies in recognizing your limits. You’re not a god, not Apollo or Krishna, and certainly not someone with infinite power. There’s no shame in acknowledging that. It doesn’t mean abandoning responsibility, but focusing it. Sometimes, knowing too much without purpose is its own curse, and if it only leaves you broken, what good is it? Information should serve you by guiding your actions, not the other way around. If the information cannot be acted upon, it is of no value. In fact, it is worse—without the ability to act, that knowledge becomes a burden, a weight that drags you down while offering nothing in return. Even knowing when to run requires clarity, not an endless stream of unactionable noise.

Watching atrocity after atrocity doesn’t solve anything. Witnessing suffering isn’t the same as preventing it. And staying “informed” doesn’t make one more compassionate—just more exhausted.

But What About the Upsides of News Consumption? (you may ask)

Perhaps you’re committed to the idea that watching detailed, disturbing footage—dead children in a remote location you have zero power to affect—is somehow empowering or healthy. Maybe you’ve convinced yourself that bearing witness to one more atrocity will make a difference, as if staring at horror long enough, or simply knowing, will somehow stop it from happening. It’s just one more example of humans being awful to each other, but now that we know and watch, this will be the last. Surely this time, the act of seeing will be enough to spark change.

They warn, “The following footage may be disturbing.” But let’s be clear: this footage isn’t chosen to enlighten or inform you. It’s carefully selected to hijack your fight-or-flight instincts, commoditize your attention, and exploit your natural human sympathies and emotions. It’s designed to provoke—not empower—to paralyze, not activate. Your horror and despair aren’t byproducts; they’re the product. They’re captured, packaged, and sold. And what are you left with? Nothing but a sense of helplessness—sitting there, consumed by grief, paralyzed by rage, powerless to act. Take that, opioids! At least they promise a numb escape. The news promises meaning but leaves you stranded in futility. Ah, but the ad revenue…

Meanwhile, the daily horrors of incompetent politicians grind on, unaffected by your awareness. Now you know—but they keep doing what they do, while you’re the one unraveling. You scream into the void of social media, maybe leave an angry comment or share the footage with others, perpetuating the cycle. You’re trapped in a loop of outrage and despair, drained of energy but desperate to care. And for what? So you can carry the weight of the world on your shoulders while nothing changes?

Who really wins that fight? Not you. Not the victims you care about. The only winners are those who profit from your attention, who keep you hooked on the illusion that watching equals action and that knowing equals power. They win, while you’re left hollow, watching the world burn from the sidelines, consumed by a fire you never lit and can never extinguish.

After all that, if there are any small, meaningful things you could do, you’re too crushed to pursue them. Your energy—your power—has already been spent on the infinite supply of horror and helplessness carefully curated from around the planet, leaving no energy or focus for real action.

Detox: How and Why

A news detox involves deliberately stepping back from the endless flood of headlines to regain clarity and control. It starts with acknowledging that most news overwhelms and distracts, offering little actionable value. Instead of consuming every story, you redirect your energy toward pursuits that genuinely enrich your life.

The benefits are clear. Constant exposure to crises—most of which you cannot change—drains emotional reserves and fosters a false sense of urgency. By stepping away, you calm your mind, regain perspective, and preserve your energy for what truly matters.

Detoxing from the news allows you to see the world with fresh eyes. Freed from the noise, you can reflect on your priorities and focus your efforts on areas where you can make a real difference. If you’re considering a detox, I suggest going cold turkey—it’s the fastest way to reclaim your mental space and reset.

The Media’s Defensive Reaction

This trend to reject them has not gone unnoticed by the media themselves (or so I hear, since I now ignore them). When the media describes patterns like, “Since the election, some disappointed in the results are tuning out the news entirely,” it often frames disengagement as an emotional overreaction—a sulking withdrawal rather than a deliberate, thoughtful choice. By dismissing it as a collective tantrum, this characterization invalidates tuning out as a principled critique of the news industry’s hard-earned failure to inform, empower, or inspire trust.

This defensive framing reveals a deeper insecurity within the media itself. Like Glenn Close’s character in Fatal Attraction, the industry cannot bear to be ignored. Its survival depends on our constant engagement, and disengagement threatens its very foundation. By tuning out, audiences reject its insistent demand for attention and expose the manipulative nature of its outrage-driven model. In response, the media lashes out—not with self-reflection, but with guilt trips and condescension aimed at shaming those who step away. What’s next, Wolf Blitzer boiling my bunny because I think I could dare ignore him?

Such reactions not only deflect accountability but also reinforce the manipulative cycle that drives the media’s attention economy. Instead of addressing the systemic issues that alienate its audience—sensationalism, shallow analysis, and a lack of actionable information—the media pathologizes disengagement as irrational or irresponsible. This tactic attempts to coerce audiences back into the fold, not through value or trust, but through social pressure and fear of “missing out.”

By framing disengagement as a failure of the audience rather than the industry, the media reveals its reluctance to confront its own shortcomings. In doing so, it underscores why stepping away is often not just a rational choice, but a necessary act of self-preservation.

Reclaiming Attention: A Deliberate Rejection of Exploitation

For years, I believed that staying glued to the news—watching every fresh wave of horror—was a moral duty. That simply knowing about the world’s endless tragedies was equivalent to doing something about them. But I’ve come to realize: that belief was never empowering. It was exhausting. And it’s okay to let go.

By stepping away from the news, I’m not retreating into apathy or ignorance—I’m reclaiming my attention and agency. This is a deliberate act of focusing on what I can influence. The ancients understood the limits of human power far better than we do in the age of information. “Know thyself,” they urged, and in doing so, know your place in the world. Like Krishna advising Arjuna, they remind us that peace is found not in the futile quest to control everything, but in purposeful action within the scope of our influence.

Cassandra’s tragedy is not just hers—it’s ours. Burdened with knowledge but stripped of power, we too feel the weight of a world we cannot change. Yet, unlike Cassandra, we have the ability to step away. By rejecting the false promises of the attention economy, we can focus on what truly matters: our relationships, our communities, and the work that aligns with our values. It is here, in this smaller and more manageable sphere, that we reclaim our power and rediscover meaning.

The idea that “staying informed” is a moral duty is a form of manipulation. The media fosters an addiction to outrage, presenting crises that demand emotional engagement but are too vast and distant for us to influence. My withdrawal is an act of self-preservation and a recognition of the limits of my influence. Find something else to sell—my attention is better spent elsewhere.

The antidote to despair isn’t more knowledge—it’s deliberate action within our power. By reclaiming our attention, we reclaim our humanity.

In short, give up the “news.” The news is toxic—a staggering waste of time that inflicts extreme, utterly pointless anguish, coupled with profound emotional trauma with absolutely zero benefit.

And, after all this, if you still believe you’re ‘staying informed’ by consuming it, you’re just another product they’ll happily keep reselling.

Further Reading

For those interested in exploring the ideas discussed further, a variety of works offer valuable insights.

In the realm of philosophy and ancient wisdom, Meditations by Marcus Aurelius provides a timeless exploration of Stoic principles, focusing on inner peace and purposeful living. Alongside this, The Enchiridion by Epictetus serves as a concise guide to distinguishing between what is within our control and what is not.

For modern approaches to mindfulness, Stop Reading the News: A Manifesto for a Happier, Calmer, and Wiser Life by Rolf Dobelli argues persuasively for stepping away from the news and reclaiming clarity and purpose. The Miracle of Mindfulness by Thích Nhất Hạnh offers practical advice for cultivating focus and living fully in the present moment, while Atomic Habits by James Clear provides strategies for redirecting energy and building intentional habits.

Media and the attention economy are critically examined in Amusing Ourselves to Death by Neil Postman, which explores how media shapes public discourse. Shoshana Zuboff’s The Age of Surveillance Capitalism delves into how corporations commodify human attention, and Stolen Focus by Johann Hari examines why we are losing our ability to concentrate and what steps we can take to address it.

In the fields of psychology and neuroscience, Thinking, Fast and Slow by Daniel Kahneman explains how our minds process information and make decisions, while Viktor E. Frankl’s Man’s Search for Meaning reflects on finding purpose even in the face of overwhelming circumstances.

Finally, for those drawn to ethics and existentialism, Simone de Beauvoir’s The Ethics of Ambiguity offers a philosophical reflection on agency and responsibility in an uncertain world, and Jean-Paul Sartre’s Existentialism is a Humanism provides a concise introduction to existentialist thought, focusing on freedom and accountability.