A juicy tidbit, for folks who just need some top line hope:

Ch ch change... there's a lot of it around right now. A war in the Middle East with no clear edges. A superpower rewriting its own rulebook. A climate doing the same. In our work, in our economy, on the news – it's everywhere. But change itself isn't the problem. It's part of being alive. What's harder is holding onto expectations that no longer fit. Letting those go isn't loss, it's where opportunity tends to hide.

I know we disagree on a lot right now. But I genuinely believe this is something we share: we all want a resilient nation.

If you agree, read on.

Dear Hope holders,

How are you coping this week? The fuel crisis is a lot to hold. And on top of that in my country, we are being hammered by our 3rd major weather event in as many months.

We are living through a turning point, and although I am concerned and alert, I am not afraid. Because I know what is ahead: Change. Lots and lots of change. I have come to expect it. I am preparing for it.

Alongside death and taxes, change is the only certainty, so I’m learning to get more comfortable with it. It’s a skill. One we can all learn. Individually and collectively.

For me personally, the current dynamics, things like AI and the spending values of a right-leaning government has impacted on my work contracts, and it has meant my career has had to shift. With it, my clients shift. My income level shifts. It’s a concern. It’s got me alert and working hard to navigate my way through it. It’s not easy, but with each shift, I adapt.

The more I adapt, the less fearful I feel, and the less fearful I feel, the stronger I become.

What I’ve learned is that beyond that first moment of shock, that feeling of “Gah, this isn’t working anymore, something has to change!,” the change itself isn’t actually chaotic. Because the chaos isn’t really in the change, rather it’s wreaking havoc with our expectations. So we have to adapt our expectations.

Because change is necessary. Some of the assumptions we’ve been living with are starting to wear thin, the idea that more and more consumption is always the path to a good life.

What we need now is a different kind of change. The kind that brings us back into balance.

For Aotearoa New Zealand* where I live, that means returning to greater self-sufficiency. It’s been a few generations since we’ve really had that. This kind of change asks more of us upfront, but it gives more back in return.

For the past forty years, our economy has been built on a simple premise: cheap oil. It has powered how we move, how we grow food, how we build, how we trade. It has made things fast, global, and, for a time, affordable.

But that era is changing. Our current energy crisis has revealed this plain and simple. We are too vulnerable as a small nation at the bottom of the planet to have globalised our trade to this extent.

We are already feeling the costs – In our weather, our insurance, in the price of food and fuel. And alongside this, something else has become clear: our reliance on long, complex supply chains has made us fragile.

When disruption hits, whether it is global conflict, shipping delays, or sudden price shifts, we feel it immediately. At the checkout, at the pump, in the day to day maths of running a household.

This begs the question: what would it look like to become anti-fragile? Not just able to withstand shocks, but to adapt and strengthen through them.

In Aotearoa New Zealand, the path forward isn’t about going backwards. It’s about rebalancing.

We remain connected to the world. We continue to participate in global knowledge, innovation, and technology. These are powerful tools that support our productivity and creativity. We (mostly!) love them, we rely on them to participate in all the world has to offer.

But alongside this, we make an important shift: we start producing more of what we need, closer to home.

And when our major food producers like Wattie’s have a wobble, we step in to support them because keeping our local food systems strong, steady, and well maintained is part of looking after ourselves.

It’s how we begin to rebuild something more resilient, grounded in place and able to sustain us over time.

Our Indigenous Māori have long understood that these fertile lands, when cared for properly, can provide full nourishment. Not just calories, but balance, diversity, and resilience. A relationship between people and place that sustains both.

That knowledge is not behind us. It is here, and it has something to offer as we think about what comes next. It’s all about releationship, and our modern food systems have broken those chains. It’s time to link it back up. Why is New Zealand shipping in fertiliser when we make some of the richest organic seaweed fertiliser on the planet?

Food systems become more local and more resilient. Fibre, materials, and essential goods are increasingly sourced and made within our own regions. Communities begin to know their producers again. Supply chains shorten. Skills return.

Shorter supply chains tend to keep more money circulating locally: this is how we become anti-fragile.

The transition will not be perfectly smooth. There will be moments in the beginning where things cost more, don’t have comparable ROI, take longer, or require us to do things differently. That is the nature of any real shift.

And we must be honest about this: change is always felt most sharply by those with the least buffer. So we design for that. We build a safety net that is not abstract, but practical and connected. One that ensures everyone has access to the essentials of life, especially good food.

Government procurement becomes a lever for resilience. It prioritises local producers, creating stable demand that flows directly into communities, supporting growers, makers, and workers. Our schools, hospitals, and universities have a directive to buy from local producers.

This is the shift that matters most: those who are most vulnerable are not left behind. They become central to the system. Their needs help shape what is grown, what is made, and how it is distributed. In this way, care and production become linked. Local economies begin to regenerate, not by coincidence but by design.

Yes, obviously, I am a lefty loosey liberal. So take that into account as you read this. But I do think resilience is something people across the political spectrum actually want -- even if we'd argue hard about how to get there: who gets the contracts. How it is implemented. What the balance looks like between local and global.

But at its heart, this is something we can all agree on: we all want a resilient nation.

One that can feed itself. One that can weather shocks. One that looks after its people. I am hopeful that an ‘anti-fragile nation’ could become a shared ambition, just as a ‘Nuclear-Free NZ’ once did in the eighties.

Maybe there is a more compelling path. If you can see it, I want to hear it. But from where I'm standing, this is the most honest direction I can point to.

So perhaps this is a moment to turn together. To set some of our differences to one side and focus on what matters most. Continuing down our current route is not neutral – It is a choice to remain exposed, dependent, and increasingly brittle.

This is not about going backwards. It is about building and practising a modern, anti-fragile economy.

The obvious first steps; everyone increase their commitment to buy local, pressure our government to ramp up local procurement, call for government support for our flailing local production (not forever, just through this time of transition). It’s time for the opposite of“Think Big”. We need to “Think Local.” .

So what can you do to spearhead an Antifragile Nation? Share this post, share this narrative with your people. Get the teeshirt. Ok, there isn’t a teeshirt. But become a cheerleader for an Anti-fragile Nation. Rah! Rah!

xxx Megan

*Aotearoa is the indigenous name for this place, and New Zealand is the name many of us know well. Both are meaningful to people here, so I’ll use them both as I talk about our shared home.