People who survive disasters—real disasters, like fires, plane crashes, or active shooters—tend to have one key trait in common: they act. While others freeze, delay, or pretend nothing’s happening, survivors make a decision. They get out. They move. They face obstacles head-on. They do whatever it takes to escape the danger zone, and they do it quickly.

This has been well-documented by researchers who study human behavior in crises. The majority of people, they’ve found, tend to deny that anything is even happening. The alarm goes off, and they keep typing. The smoke thickens, and they finish their meal. There’s a loud bang nearby, and they tell themselves it was probably just fireworks. They cling to normality because it’s familiar and safe—until it’s not.

And when I learned about this pattern, I realized something that shook me: this isn’t limited to disasters. It’s how a lot of people live.

We find ourselves in situations that are quietly, persistently harmful. Maybe it’s not a fire or a flood, but it’s a job that’s killing our spirit, or a relationship that keeps us small, or a habit that’s destroying our health. There’s smoke, but we ignore it. There’s discomfort, but we rationalize it. There’s a gnawing sense that something is wrong, but we stay put—telling ourselves it’s not that bad.

We stay in the same relationship because we’re afraid to be alone. We stay in the same band or game group because the hassle of change feels worse than the mediocrity we’ve gotten used to. We numb ourselves with booze or distractions and call it “just blowing off steam.” We freeze. We deny. We wait. And slowly, like victims of smoke inhalation, we go under.

But survival—true survival—requires action.

For me, this meant making hard choices. I had to stop pretending that everything was okay. I had to stop telling myself I was powerless. I had to act—because the alternative was to keep dying, slowly. I chose to get clean. I chose to leave relationships that weren’t good for me. And more importantly, I chose to seek out relationships that were. Because happiness isn’t just the absence of pain—it’s the presence of something meaningful.

And now, I realize I need to keep making those choices. In new areas of life. Again and again.

Because life doesn’t always present itself as a five-alarm fire. Sometimes the danger is subtle. It creeps in over years. But if we’re not careful, if we keep sitting there convincing ourselves it’s fine, we become victims of a disaster we never saw coming.

So here’s the truth: no one is coming to rescue us. There’s no fireman on the way to pull us out of a burning job or a toxic friendship. It’s on us. We have to become our own rescuers. We have to act.

And the time to act is now.