You don’t have to search for it. Every day, news about stronger storms, deeper droughts, hotter heatwaves and more intense wildfires breaks through. It’s nerve-wracking as these extreme weather events strike closer to home, making us wonder what to do to stay safe. How are we actually going to survive this new climate?

I was recently asked if places like New Zealand or Scandinavia might be “more resistant” to the impacts of climate change. I wrestle with how to share the unvarnished truth; every natural process and all of human enterprise operate within the envelope of climate. This means that the changing climate is disrupting everything, everywhere.

It’s true that the higher latitudes, which are presently quite cold in the winter, will still remain hospitable in future summers when compared to the American Southwest, the lowlands of Pakistan or Saudi Arabia. Population growth in some northern locations (like Duluth, MN) is being driven in-part by the perception of a more livable future climate. The air temperature on the California coast will rise more slowly due to its proximity to one of Earth’s great ocean upwelling zones, where cold water coming to the surface generates a natural air conditioner.

But areas with cooler air temperatures will not be protected from climate disruption. The extra energy that greenhouse gases are capturing on the Earth changes the availability of water, boosts the strength of storms, intensifies drought and wildfires and causes sea level to rise. This affects agricultural productivity, economic activity and the power of “natural” disasters.

The new climate is wreaking havoc with the Earth’s hydrologic cycle. Higher temperatures drive greater aridity (over 77% of the Earth’s land has become drier over the past three decades), generating water insecurity, crop failures and disruption of river-borne commerce (currently a problem on the Mississippi, the Mackenzie and the Amazon). Parched landscapes lead to longer fire seasons with harsher wildfires. This contributed to a January like no other in the history of Los Angeles.

When it does rain, torrential downpours are more common, a result of warmer air holding more moisture. These intense rainfall events are causing widespread destruction on a regular basis (recently in Spain, Mexico, Central Europe, the midwestern and southern U.S. and Central/Western Africa).

Over 90% of the energy being captured by greenhouse gases is absorbed by the ocean (as I explained in 2018, this is the energy-equivalent of exploding two Hiroshima-sized atomic bombs in the ocean every second). This contributes to powerful hurricanes that can build quickly, challenging forecasting efforts. (Storms are strengthening in northern latitudes as well. Last year, hurricane-force winds were recorded for the first time in southern Finland.)

The punishing scale of impacts now possible from these souped-up storms was on display in northern Florida and western North Carolina last summer during Hurricane Helene. Communities pummeled by these increasingly frequent major storms are still struggling to recover, as we see in Florida, eastern North Carolina and Louisiana. On the other side of the world, heavy monsoon rains caused surging floods in Bangladesh, destroying more than a million tons of rice — a vivid reminder that too much water, not just prolonged drought, can damage agricultural production.

As the ocean warms, it expands (a given amount of water takes up more space when it is warmer). This larger ocean, made even bigger by the inflow of water from melting land ice, is causing sea level to rise. The rising sea creates a growing flooding threat for coastal communities (especially during storms that coincide with high tide). This problem will be worse for our grandchildren, as the annual rate of sea level rise will accelerate this century. Coastal locations where the land is subsiding, such as the Gulf Coast and the mouth of Chesapeake Bay, are already experiencing tidal flooding. Those who do not live near the coast will also be affected by sea level rise, as they are economically linked to impacted areas through shipping and transportation.

All of these climate disruptions make the world a more dangerous place — and living in it is costing us more too. In 2024, there were 27 weather-related events in the U.S. that each caused $1 billion or more in damages, compared to two in 1984 (after adjusting for inflation). Insurance companies are reacting by raising rates, reducing coverage limits, capping payouts, increasing deductibles and imposing new conditions or even exclusions on some common perils. Many insurance companies are losing money, and nine firms have gone bankrupt just in Florida since 2021. The Los Angeles fires are expected to be the largest insured loss by wildfire in U.S. history.

We forget how much insurance, a mechanism for us to share risk, facilitates our economy. The New York Times notes that “without insurance, you can’t get a mortgage; without a mortgage, most Americans can’t buy a home. Communities that are deemed too dangerous to insure face the risk of falling property values, which means less tax revenue for schools, police and other basic services.” Texas A&M Professor Andrew Dessler observes that this insurance crisis represents “one of the first ways that climate change is systematically harming economies, long before the physical impacts of warming fully materialize.”

Donald Trump’s response to the overwhelming evidence of disruption is to stop collecting the evidence in the first place. He is destroying the ability of NOAA and the EPA to track climate impacts and project future ones. This is a blunder of historic proportions that will have consequences for generations.

But there are essential actions we can take to create refuge for ourselves and our communities. Once we identify local vulnerabilities to climate change, we can make the investments required to keep infrastructure operating and residents safe as climate change accelerates. Planners call this creating resiliency. Communities also can become more resilient by restoring and maintaining their “natural infrastructure,” the regional ecosystems that provide services such as water storage and purification, flood protection, temperature amelioration, wildlife preservation and recreational opportunities (the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers has called this approach “Engineering with Nature”).

I have always expected that resiliency will be the work of regional governments, as federal resources are increasingly directed toward disaster relief and recovery. But in a move that will soon lead to greater suffering, Trump has suggested eliminating FEMA, leaving regions to fend for themselves when extreme weather strikes (by its own reckoning, FEMA is unprepared for the 2025 hurricane season).

The San Francisco Bay Conservation and Development Commission recently adopted a Regional Shoreline Adaptation Plan. Responding to a new law in California that requires coastal cities and counties to prepare for sea level rise, the plan is based on projections of the future climate, recognizing that we cannot create resilient communities by relying on the past as a guide. What’s demanded of us now is to build what will inevitably be needed. That includes fuel breaks to slow fires, additional cooling centers as heatwaves worsen, investments in specialized meteorological equipment for more accurate storm forecasting and detention basins to store floodwaters (this is how Vienna was protected recently from a flood of the River Wien).

There is no doubt that we as humans have a strong tie to places; aesthetically, culturally and economically. But wherever we call home, we will be vulnerable in this new climate. Disruption will be part of our future, even if we can’t predict precisely how and when. There’s nowhere to hide but, if we’re better prepared, it will be easier to ride out the storms of the future.

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