Today: March 5, 2019
The sun is out again. I began the day at my desk, in the dark, waiting for my neurons to fire with enough vigor to wake me up. I dreamt of a massive fire, and although I shouted to the occupants to get outside, they didn’t believe me, and they all died. I choose to believe this is my brain’s way of dealing with impending climate change.
When we were in Key West, a local driver mentioned that they were getting summer weather in February. He said it with the casual tone of someone commenting on… well… the weather! As for me, I can see those grand old Florida houses rotting waist deep in seawater. I can feel the mute shock that will follow the first few crises, as cruel reality sets in. Million dollar homes made worthless. Mass migration, slow at first, but then overwhelming.
Southern Florida is our canary in the coal mine, but for now she bleats happily on her perch. There’s little I can do, day to day, so I push all thoughts of climate doom into the back of my mind where they manifest in the form of occasional bad dreams. But I’m practical, you see. My response to our bubbling crisis is to take a two fold approach:
- Be as kind to the Earth as I can manage (no car, no kids, tiny home, eco-conscious minimalism)
- Hope that the worst happens after I’m dead.
To borrow a metaphor from Jonathan Franzen, we know that we’ll all die someday, but this doesn’t stop us from loving and caring for one another. Take that concept as big as you can, and you can find a way to live on a planet that may become inhospitable to human life.
In my cheerier moments, I can convince myself that the current climate crisis is overblown by people who want to sell newspapers. Do I really believe this? No. But it’s a comforting delusion to indulge, from time to time.
It beats running down second avenue screaming WE’RE ALL GOING TO DIE.
Having spilled my grim thoughts upon this page, perhaps now I can work. I will try.