Grieving a world that no longer exists
To grieve for the world we have hurt, for a future that no longer exists as we were promised, for the pain and suffering happening all around us. Then to find hope again.
“Sometimes you’re born into a world that’s ending. This is a thing that happens. Worlds have ended before. How do you know that you were born into the ending of the world? The future no longer works.” what I believe is a second-hand quote from a podcast with Dougald Hind, originally by Federico Campagna.
I did what I was told to do to create the quasi-American-dream lifestyle that capitalism promised us. I followed the “pull yourself up by the bootstraps” advice, breaking through to the middle-class world, working against inner complaints to get the jobs I needed to make the money to buy the house and prepare for children. Halfway through this journey, I lifted my head to see how far I’d come, how far I have left, to realise the place I thought was waiting for me no longer exists. Did it ever exist in the first place?
Getting lost
I’ve spent the last 5 years being told how impressive it is for what I’ve accomplished at such a young age. Ditching university and student debt to focus on earning money in an apprenticeship instead. “I wish my child could be like you.” Saving every extra penny I earn so I can buy a house at 19. “You’ve got your head screwed on right.” Going freelance to earn more than any boss would give me. “What an entrepreneurial mindset you’ve got.” I followed the rules, and I played the capitalism game, only to suddenly feel like the world has been ripped out from underneath me, unsure where to go next.
I’m only 23, but I feel so old. How are you meant to feel young when you’re being told we only have 10 years left to save the world? Eco-anxiety doesn’t even begin to cover it when you’ve been reading about how the world is ending your entire life. How many once-in-a-lifetime economic crashes can one person live through without realising something’s off? I’ve counted 3 so far in my short time on the planet. At this rate, I’ll experience 8 more before I die.
And now I’m being told I’m part of the generation that's going to save the world? What the fuck do I know? How do you even begin to piece together a solution in a system that’s so broken? For my entire life, I’ve been hearing about climate change and its disastrous effects, and now it’s my responsibility to fix it?!
Being young comes with social media, and social media comes with echo chambers. The Extinction Rebellion founder is telling us we face annihilation. If we don’t get emissions to zero within months, humanity is going to be wiped out. I wake up, open my phone, and a new climate catastrophe has arrived. Then I step into my real life and most of my friends don’t understand. “What do you mean you don’t want to come shopping with me this weekend? You used to love going to Primark.” How do you try to fit in with those your age when they live in a completely different world from you? “No, I don’t want to go to the charity shop. Those clothes are dirty.” How can I live in both worlds without losing my mind?
I join Greenpeace, Friends of the Earth, look for local demonstrations, what I can get involved with to make a difference? Then I look up how many protested the Iraq war, and how the government still went ahead with it anyway. I walk past an Anonymous for the Voiceless protest, people back to back wearing scary masks and head-to-toe black clothing, holding screens, trying to show everyone the horrors that factory-farmed animals go through. I see people glance, side-eye them, and then walk into McDonald's and KFC anyway. What difference does it make?
I hold my new nieces and nephews, and the yearning in my heart, in my womb, grows. I’ve wanted kids my entire life. For as long as I could remember. This want was one of the main reasons for my meticulous life planning. If I own a three-bedroom house, then we can have kids whenever we’re ready. If I go freelance, then I can work flexible hours and be there for my future kids. But then my joking nags at my boyfriend to get me pregnant stopped, because I realised that maybe I can’t have kids when the world is on fire. How do I bring a human into this world when I can’t confidently say they’ll have a future? How can I hold a baby in my arms and watch the news and not feel guilty for bringing them into this?
Finding hope
I read and I write because that’s all I know how to do. I read books; I read studies; I read articles about climate change, about saving the world, about the future we can expect. I write as I claw back my hope from climate doomism, as I clawed back my life from the claws of capitalism.
I push down the urge to escape, to ditch everything I have built and run off-grid, knowing this isn’t the answer. As Vanessa Machado de Oliveria writes about, we shouldn't divest–run away–instead, we must disinvest–give up on modernity’s promise–and reorientate ourselves away. We can stay in existing institutions that aren’t serving us whilst still working on the new future.
I’ve also learnt how to sense check, look for climate doomism, and protect myself from fear-mongering. 1.5 degrees of warming isn’t going to mean the end of everything. No famine is going to be unleashed across Europe in 20 years. Popular news sites might publish a new climate article every three hours, but the frequency of articles isn’t a marker of catastrophe. We don’t have to wait for slow-moving governments to save us. We can weave our own solutions, and care for our own communities on our own.
This realisation has allowed me to stop living for the future, to live for now. No one actually knows what’s going to happen, I’ve stopped following a promise that might’ve never existed and found myself happier for it. Instead of worrying about the fates of my loved ones and future children, can I instead focus on creating a world a wonderful, caring place for them to inherit?
We must allow ourselves time to grieve. To grieve for the world we have hurt, for a future that no longer exists as we were promised, for the pain and suffering happening all around us. But grieving doesn’t equal giving up. We stand at the beginning of a process that will take a thousand years–the time it takes for an old-growth forest to return–but it’s just that, the beginning. The beginning of how we create a new future.
“We are living in a time where impossible things happen - and in this there lies a dark vein of hope.” Dougald Hine.
Inspiration and resources
https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/66054459-at-work-in-the-ruins
Brilliantly powerful & hopeful - thank you for sharing Isabelle. Love the bit about not running away as I've noticed my urge to do that has been really strong recently! xxx
Oof, Isabelle, I loved reading this and I try to do the same as you. The doomism is rife, and clickbait headlines will always try and win our attention through fear and rage, but that doesn't mean it's the only option for our senses. I agree with pulling our attention back to the present so we can shift our trajectory - focussing on small changes within your own community, educating within your own relationships, small shifts in your own present and future planning.
I love the work of Jessica Kleczka around positive news and fighting doomism, and Mikaela Loach's work, including her new book which I can't wait to get stuck into. And of course the wonderful Active Hope book, projects and training!