Written by I never thought of myself as the “prepper type.” I sell insurance for a living—life, auto, home—the usual. My days are spent helping people plan for the unexpected on paper: policies, premiums, risk assessments. It’s a stable, predictable career, and for a long time, that predictability gave me comfort. I believed that if something went wrong, we had coverage. We had systems. We had…plans.
Then I became a husband. Then a father. And somewhere between packing school lunches and reviewing policy renewals, something shifted. The idea of “coverage” stopped feeling complete. Because no policy—no matter how comprehensive—can put food on the table when supply chains break, or keep your kids warm when the power’s out for days. And that realization, honestly, unsettled me.
It started small. A hurricane warning last season—nothing unusual for where we live—but it hit differently this time. My wife asked if we had enough water. I said yes, but I hadn’t actually checked. My son asked what would happen if the power went out for a week. I laughed it off, but I didn’t have a real answer. That night, lying in bed, I realized something uncomfortable: I spend my life advising others to prepare for worst-case scenarios, but when it came to my own family, I was relying on hope and habit.
That’s when I started looking into prepping.
At first, I’ll admit, I had a lot of preconceived notions. I pictured extreme survivalists living off-grid, bunkers buried in the woods, stockpiles of gear I wouldn’t even know how to use. It felt overwhelming and, if I’m being honest, a little ridiculous. But the more I read, the more I realized prepping isn’t really about fear or extremism—it’s about responsibility. It’s about resilience. And for someone like me, with two kids who depend on me, that hit home.
I didn’t dive in headfirst. I started with what made sense: the basics. Water, food, and a plan.
Water was the first thing that really opened my eyes. As an insurance agent, I understand infrastructure risks in theory. But practically speaking, I had no idea how quickly a disruption could leave us without clean water. I learned the general rule—one gallon per person per day—and did the math for my family of four. Suddenly, a “few extra bottles” didn’t seem so sufficient. I started storing water properly, rotating it, and even looked into filtration options. It wasn’t complicated, but it required intention—something I hadn’t applied before.
Stocking up on food came next. We weren’t starving, obviously. Our pantry always had something in it. But it wasn’t structured for a real emergency. If we couldn’t get to a grocery store for two weeks, we’d be stretching things thin. I started building a simple food reserve— just shelf-stable items we already eat: canned goods, rice, pasta, peanut butter. The key lesson I learned early was this: don’t store what you won’t eat. That made it easier to integrate prepping into our normal life instead of treating it like a separate, intimidating project.
My wife was skeptical at first. Not dismissive—just cautious. She asked the same question I had been quietly asking myself: “Are we overreacting?” And I get that. It’s easy to feel like you’re preparing for something that might never happen. But I explained it the only way I knew how—through my work. I told her that insurance is about managing risk, not predicting disaster. You don’t buy life insurance because you plan to die tomorrow. You buy it because if something does happen, the people you love are protected.
Prepping, I realized, is the same concept—just more tangible.
As I kept learning, I started expanding beyond the basics. Power outages became a real consideration. I picked up a couple of reliable flashlights, extra batteries, and eventually a small generator. Nothing extreme, just enough to keep essentials running. I involved my kids in small ways, too—not to scare them, but to teach them. We practiced what to do if the lights go out. We talked about staying together, staying calm. I wanted them to feel prepared, not afraid.
One of the biggest surprises for me has been how much prepping has changed my mindset. It’s not just about stockpiling supplies—it’s about awareness. I pay more attention now. Weather patterns, local news, even small disruptions that I used to ignore. I think more about how systems we rely on every day—electricity, transportation, communication—can be fragile. And instead of that making me anxious, it’s actually made me more confident. Because now I’m doing something about it.
That said, I’m still new to all of this. I don’t have it all figured out. There’s a lot I don’t know—skills I haven’t learned yet, gaps in my preparedness that I’m still discovering. But I’ve come to accept that prepping isn’t a destination; it’s a process. It’s something you build over time, step by step, decision by decision.
One area I’ve started exploring more is skills. Supplies are important, but they only go so far if you don’t know how to use them. I’ve been reading about basic first aid, learning how to use the gear I’ve bought instead of just storing it, and even looking into things like gardening. The idea of being able to produce some of our own food—even in a small way—is appealing. Not because I expect to become fully self-sufficient overnight, but because every little bit adds to our resilience.
Balancing all of this with my job and family life has been a challenge. I don’t have endless time or resources to throw at prepping. But I’ve learned that you don’t need to go all-in immediately. Consistency matters more than intensity. Setting aside a little time each week, adding a few items to our supplies each month—it all adds up. And it feels manageable, which means I actually stick with it.
What’s interesting is how much my professional life has influenced this journey. As an insurance agent, I’ve seen firsthand how quickly life can change for people. Accidents, storms, unexpected losses—they’re not hypothetical. They happen every day. And while financial protection is critical, it’s only part of the picture. Physical preparedness—having what you need when systems fail—that’s something I had overlooked for too long.
I don’t talk about prepping much at work. It’s not exactly a common topic around the office. But internally, it’s changed how I think about what I do. When I help someone choose a policy now, I see it as one layer of protection—not the whole solution. And at home, I’m building those additional layers for my own family.
If there’s one thing I’ve learned so far, it’s this: prepping isn’t about expecting the worst—it’s about respecting the possibility. It’s about taking responsibility for the people who depend on you and doing what you can, within your means, to keep them safe.
I’m still at the beginning of this journey. My supplies aren’t perfect. My knowledge isn’t complete. But I’m no longer unprepared. And that, to me, is a meaningful shift.
Because at the end of the day, when I look at my wife and my kids, I don’t just want to hope we’ll be okay if something goes wrong. I want to know that I’ve done everything I reasonably can to make sure we are.