According to somebody's calculations, the world should have ended five minutes ago - and then some. Somehow, we're still here. Congratulations.

Please accept this overdue congratulations on surviving the end of the world. Again.

Friday, November 13, 2026, came and went without humanity being squeezed to death by an infinite population. If your grocery store felt crowded, that was apparently a separate issue.

But in 1960, Heinz von Foerster and two colleagues published a paper in Science projecting that population would approach infinity on that date if its historical growth pattern continued. There was mathematical reasoning behind it, considerable theatrical flair, and an important qualification: “if.”

Humanity declined to cooperate with the equation. Very inconsiderate.

This particular apocalypse mixed serious inquiry with deliberate absurdity. Others have arrived wearing much straighter faces.

Paul Ehrlich’s 1968 bestseller, The Population Bomb, warned that hundreds of millions would starve in the 1970s. Famines were real and devastating, but that global catastrophe did not materialize. Agricultural innovation helped humanity feed a growing population. Apparently, farmers had neglected to read the obituary.

Today, largely thanks to technology, famines are easier for global authorities to predict and, therefore, to subvert before mass casualties become a realities. 

Almost without our notice, the devastating images of children starving to death in famine-stricken nations have largely become, blessedly, a relic of past decades.

An early Arctic sea-ice projection offered another memorable deadline: a nearly ice-free summer around 2016, give or take three years. That window closed with ice still present. The estimate carried acknowledged uncertainty, and Arctic ice loss remains a genuine concern. Nevertheless, the calendar deserves a vote.

For children growing up amid environmental warnings, however, qualifications weren’t always what stuck.

The ozone layer was disappearing. Acid rain was falling. Rainforests were vanishing. Somewhere between the evening news and science class, the message could become: enjoy recess while breathable air remains available.

A child hearing that forests produce oxygen may not retain the finer points of atmospheric chemistry. She may simply wonder whether she should start holding her breath now.

To be fair, ozone depletion and acid rain were genuine problems. Reducing ozone-destroying chemicals helped put the ozone layer on a recovery path. Cutting sulfur dioxide emissions dramatically reduced acid deposition. Those are achievements worth celebrating.

But did the good news get an assembly? A cheerful worksheet? Perhaps a banner reading, “Excellent Work, Everyone: The Atmosphere Appreciates Your Cooperation”?

Fear gets an entrance with trumpets. Improvement often slips out through the side door.

Newspapers need readers. Television needs viewers. An approaching catastrophe is a much easier sell than “Complicated Problem Improves Gradually Following Technical Adjustments.”

Still, if the purpose is to help us behave responsibly, the instructions could use work.

Consider recycling. Must the yogurt container be rinsed? How thoroughly? Should recyclables go inside a plastic bag? Why does the guide say no bags while the collection crew appears to be hauling bags away?

We have been briefed on planetary peril, yet the peanut-butter jar remains an administrative mystery.

For the record: generally, empty containers, scrape or briefly rinse away food, and keep accepted recyclables loose unless your provider says otherwise. Plastic bags commonly interfere with sorting equipment. Local rules govern.

There. A few useful sentences. Nobody had to predict civilization’s collapse.

Environmental education should leave people capable of doing something besides worrying. Explain the problem, the uncertainty, the remedy, and who can deliver it. When something improves, announce that, too.

Scientists should investigate dangers. Reporters should ask difficult questions. The rest of us should retain permission to ask whether a terrifying deadline represents established knowledge, an uncertain scenario, or somebody getting carried away.

Meanwhile, congratulations. You have survived another scheduled apocalypse.

Go outside. Take a breath. Enjoy the trees.

Then check the recycling instructions. Apparently, surviving doomsday was the easy part.

(Contributing writer, Brooke Bell)