Why are you here?
When I tell people that I am studying sustainability, they ask what job I hope to get. Just like any recent college grad or grad student, this is one of the most contested and despised questions as it is usually followed by advice or judgment about how much money I will make and if it will be enough to offset my monthly loan payments that are soon to follow.
The answer to this question is not simple and not trivial.
I am here because I am scared.
I remember in grade school, after Hurricane Katrina, our class began collecting donations to send to Red Cross to help those affected by the disaster. It was in the aftermath of learning what a hurricane was that our teacher told us about climate change. I remember her saying by the time we (the kids) were about 30, we would start to feel the effects of climate change. I am 22.
I watched my home state burn up for years and years. I watched the news and saw intersections I had driven through in Santa Rosa with the stoplights melted and twisted on the ground surrounded by burned-out cars and brick chimneys as the only semblance that a suburb housing thousands had once existed in the wake of the devastating fires. I watched my family evacuate our home because my dad could see flames in the brush as he stood on our driveway. I watched for years as millions of acres burned, millions of people were displaced, thousands of homes lost. This wasn't supposed to happen for another decade.
I watched the abalone dwindle off the California coast and giant kelp reefs get taken over by invasive algae. I watched urchins turn vibrant ecosystems into underwater graveyards full of bare rock and armies of spiny soldiers. I watched invasive species take over the cathedrals of kelp that used to grace the coast along the state; I heard the reports of fisheries closing and drastic efforts being taken to ensure we could maintain the biodiversity that remains. This wasn't supposed to happen for another decade.
I watched my mom cry on video chat as I told her I would not be flying back to California from NYC because I have likely already been infected with Covid-19 and I didn't want to put her and my whole family and community back in California at risk. I watched myself reflexively apologize for not being able to be home during the global pandemic that has brought even the city that never sleeps to a standstill. I went to the market to get bread and lentils and cried while I stood in line for 40 minutes. This wasn't supposed to happen for another decade.
The relinquishment of control and the trust I am being told to put in the government and authorities does not feel right. But I don't know what else to do. No one knows what else to do. We get conflicting messages about when to panic, when to stop going outside, how many cases there are, how it's going to get better, how it's going to get worse. The global intensification of pandemics is aided by global climate change and lack of sustainable development.
This is the big one, it's not an 8.1 earthquake, it's not a wildfire, it's not ecosystem collapse, it's not a global pandemic, it is all climate change. It is the exacerbation of crises and entirely out of my control.
Why am I here? I am here because I am obligated to address the situation at hand, to the best of my ability, using every resource I have access to, in an effort to somehow combat the onslaught of fear, terror, destruction, and sickness. Because if I do not address this situation, I will stand paralyzed and unable to progress. Maybe it is the neoliberal millennial in me that feels I am the solution and that only my own hard work will allow me to save the world, or the realist in me is focused on mitigation of damage.
Regardless of where I am going, fear is why I am here.
The answer to this question is not simple and not trivial.
I am here because I am scared.
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| The author in Glacier National Park Tervet 2018 |
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| Fire Tervet 2019 |
I watched the abalone dwindle off the California coast and giant kelp reefs get taken over by invasive algae. I watched urchins turn vibrant ecosystems into underwater graveyards full of bare rock and armies of spiny soldiers. I watched invasive species take over the cathedrals of kelp that used to grace the coast along the state; I heard the reports of fisheries closing and drastic efforts being taken to ensure we could maintain the biodiversity that remains. This wasn't supposed to happen for another decade.
I watched my mom cry on video chat as I told her I would not be flying back to California from NYC because I have likely already been infected with Covid-19 and I didn't want to put her and my whole family and community back in California at risk. I watched myself reflexively apologize for not being able to be home during the global pandemic that has brought even the city that never sleeps to a standstill. I went to the market to get bread and lentils and cried while I stood in line for 40 minutes. This wasn't supposed to happen for another decade.
The relinquishment of control and the trust I am being told to put in the government and authorities does not feel right. But I don't know what else to do. No one knows what else to do. We get conflicting messages about when to panic, when to stop going outside, how many cases there are, how it's going to get better, how it's going to get worse. The global intensification of pandemics is aided by global climate change and lack of sustainable development.
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| 6 train at the platform in Bronx, NY Tervet 2020 |
Why am I here? I am here because I am obligated to address the situation at hand, to the best of my ability, using every resource I have access to, in an effort to somehow combat the onslaught of fear, terror, destruction, and sickness. Because if I do not address this situation, I will stand paralyzed and unable to progress. Maybe it is the neoliberal millennial in me that feels I am the solution and that only my own hard work will allow me to save the world, or the realist in me is focused on mitigation of damage.
Regardless of where I am going, fear is why I am here.
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