Apologies for the few weeks of silence on my part. Catching up with life post-wedding has taken more energy than I anticipated.
I originally wrote this post for Parenting in the Climate Crisis by Bridget Shirvell earlier this fall, but I ended up loving the process of writing it so much that I wanted to share it with you all. Shirvell gave me the following prompt: write a letter to a child born in 2022 that they would open on their 50th birthday in 2072.
The result was a fraught writing process that was ultimately rewarding. Hope you all enjoy.
To the kid born in November 2022, on the eve of your 50th birthday in 2072:
I’m writing to make sure that you know: some of us in 2022 are really tired.
Let’s take a step back. I’m an anxious person, always getting ahead of myself. And so I’m thinking ahead as I write this, ruminating on what your world looks like.
It’s hotter than the world as I know it today in 2022. You've likely encountered multiple major weather phenomena and natural disasters within the past twelve months. The coastlines nearest to you have likely changed or disappeared. Engineers have been hard at work for decades now trying to clean the oceans, filter out all the plastic in the food supply, eliminate the need for fossil fuels. Some of these efforts will have been successful, but likely they are too little, too late.
When I say that we tried, I promise that that’s not an excuse. We were told we could make a difference as individuals. I turned off the lights when I left every room. I took great care to separate my cardboard from my metal and plastic recycling every week. I lived in a city and took mass transit whenever I could to avoid using fossil fuels. I donated money to climate change and environmentalist causes when I had the means to do so. I did what I could reasonably do as an individual.
But the truth is, that wasn’t enough to stop the momentum of the systems in place that made climate change happen in the first place. Turning off the lights did little when juxtaposed with lobbyists for fossil fuel companies in Washington, D.C. My dedication to recycling my seltzer and beer cans were steamrolled by companies who took environmentally harmful shortcuts to maximize their profits. The small amount of money I could spare to donate wasn’t even a drop in the bucket compared to the wealthy political donors who funded President Donald Trump’s 2016 campaign with the hopes that he would hinder or squash the EPA (and spoiler alert: he did).
That’s not to say that I couldn’t have done more. But we bought into systemic corruption at the expense of our planet. And as an individual, I’m equal parts innocent and complicit.
I’ve definitely bought single-use plastics when I didn’t need to. Some environmentally friendly options weren’t a good fit for what I needed (take the menstrual cup, for example). At times, doing the right thing for the planet felt directly at odds with doing what I wanted. Some of the responsibility falls on me, make no mistake.
But why tell you all this on your 50th birthday? Because you’re middle-aged now. You’ve been witness to so much change on and within our planet.
I guess what I hope you’ll do is take just a moment to go out in nature, no matter what that looks like now. If I were you, I’d go see the ocean. I’d take a moment to take in its majesty and its power. It has given us so much, and as we permanently changed this planet, the ocean has made sure to remind us what it will cost us. Perhaps the coastline when you are 50 has flooded low-income communities, or eroded away a coastal town. It has likely messed with real estate, to the horror of the wealthy.
So I hope you’ll go and pay your respects to the ocean, whatever it looks like now. I hope you’ll see its power to sustain life and take it away. I hope you’ll reflect on the individuals who tried, with so much effort, to save it. Who tried the best they could to save you.
Looking towards your future with great love and hope, Sarah