I do appreciate the sentiment. Truly, I do. It occurs to me that my pressing "submit" on that first comment was actually an important milestone for me, mentally.
Through the years of my watching my species demonstrate the law of triviality, I can see now that I've gone through the five stages of grief, as defined by the Kübler-Ross model.
Denial: Mainly, as a child. I can't think of a moment of my life after the executive function portions of my brain were developed that I was in profound denial, but I can identify spans where I felt that my negative impact didn't really count.
Anger: My early adult years, angry with the "political-industrial complex" for metaphorically writing the environmental checks I and my offspring would have to cash.
Bargaining: In my late twenties and early thirties, thinking "maybe if I make these changes, I can convince others to do the same, and together, we can effect real change in our government and in society." It's about this time that I also noticed that people who use the phrase "[foo]-industrial complex" come off as either idealists or conspiracy theorists.
Depression: In recent years, I've experienced a growing sense of despair while watching story after story showcasing the arguments between humans who, you'd think, would all prefer not to have to worry about how difficult life will become when the effects of climate change are really felt; grand ideas that couldn't possibly be implemented in time; seeing how my voting and writing politicians and commenting on web sites (ha!) failed to make a difference; thinking that my kids' lives will be harder, and as a parent, all I want is to make their lives better than mine.
Acceptance: And here we are. My "coming out" as a person who's realized it's too late gets (as I write this) 26 fake internet points. I feel validated, in a weird way, and it gave me peace to see those first dozen points roll in over just a few minutes. I've accepted that the climate is irrevocably (in my lifetime) wrecked, and there are things I can do now to help my children. I can help them learn the lessons my generation didn't. I can show what changes we can make that would make a difference, not because they will make a difference for me, but because there may come a time that those lessons would be passed on, possibly made part of a societal contract to stop arguing, stop fucking up the environment, and start doing what's necessary to ensure, wherever they live in the future, these mistakes won't be repeated. Teaching them the simple math behind it all:
When you spend, over just 150 years, a natural currency that took millions of years to save, you drive the environmental economy into ruin. From day one, a fourth grade student could've done the math and said, "hang on, guys... this doesn't add up."
And then I realize: I don't have to teach them that last part. My son figured that out on his own. Two years ago. In the fourth grade.
> When you spend, over just 150 years, a natural currency that took millions of years to save, you drive the environmental economy into ruin.
It's not really so much the environmental economy - just ours; we're running out of runway, but the good news is, we don't go out of business if we go off the end. We just have to find a way to bootstrap with a lower burn rate.
Through the years of my watching my species demonstrate the law of triviality, I can see now that I've gone through the five stages of grief, as defined by the Kübler-Ross model.
Denial: Mainly, as a child. I can't think of a moment of my life after the executive function portions of my brain were developed that I was in profound denial, but I can identify spans where I felt that my negative impact didn't really count.
Anger: My early adult years, angry with the "political-industrial complex" for metaphorically writing the environmental checks I and my offspring would have to cash.
Bargaining: In my late twenties and early thirties, thinking "maybe if I make these changes, I can convince others to do the same, and together, we can effect real change in our government and in society." It's about this time that I also noticed that people who use the phrase "[foo]-industrial complex" come off as either idealists or conspiracy theorists.
Depression: In recent years, I've experienced a growing sense of despair while watching story after story showcasing the arguments between humans who, you'd think, would all prefer not to have to worry about how difficult life will become when the effects of climate change are really felt; grand ideas that couldn't possibly be implemented in time; seeing how my voting and writing politicians and commenting on web sites (ha!) failed to make a difference; thinking that my kids' lives will be harder, and as a parent, all I want is to make their lives better than mine.
Acceptance: And here we are. My "coming out" as a person who's realized it's too late gets (as I write this) 26 fake internet points. I feel validated, in a weird way, and it gave me peace to see those first dozen points roll in over just a few minutes. I've accepted that the climate is irrevocably (in my lifetime) wrecked, and there are things I can do now to help my children. I can help them learn the lessons my generation didn't. I can show what changes we can make that would make a difference, not because they will make a difference for me, but because there may come a time that those lessons would be passed on, possibly made part of a societal contract to stop arguing, stop fucking up the environment, and start doing what's necessary to ensure, wherever they live in the future, these mistakes won't be repeated. Teaching them the simple math behind it all:
When you spend, over just 150 years, a natural currency that took millions of years to save, you drive the environmental economy into ruin. From day one, a fourth grade student could've done the math and said, "hang on, guys... this doesn't add up."
And then I realize: I don't have to teach them that last part. My son figured that out on his own. Two years ago. In the fourth grade.