Whenever I'm feeling low (and I've been low lately), I submit myself to a maddening interrogation: Are my expectations of myself to high? Are they too low? It is because I'm going through a transition - I'm in limbo? Is it because my jobs aren't fulfilling? And so on... I'd like to note that the relentless interrogation never actually helps me feel better; it only adds frustration to sadness - not a pretty combination.
You'll notice a theme in my self-interrogation: I, me, my... In their book Coming Back to Life: Practices to Reconnect Our Lives, Our World, Joanna Macy and Molly Young Brown make an astute point:
"[The source of pain] lies less in concerns for the personal self than in apprehensions of collective suffering - of what happens to our and other species, to the legacy of our ancestors, to unborn generations, and to the living body of the Earth.
"What we are dealing with here is akin to the original meaning of compassion: "suffering with." It is the distress we feel on behalf of the larger whole of which we are a part. It is the pain of the world itself, experienced in each of us...
"That pain is the price of consciousness in a threatened and suffering world. It is not only natural, it is an absolutely necessary component of our collective healing. As in all organisms, pain has a purpose: it is a warning signal, designed to trigger remedial action.
"The problem, therefore, lies not with our pain for the world, but in our repression of it." (Macy and Brown, pp. 27).
They go on to discuss several sources of repression, including fear of pain, fear of appearing morbid (or, as I would put it, fear of being "Debbie Downer"- see earlier posts), fear of guilt, fear of causing distress, fear of appearing weak and emotional and belief in the separate self. I am guilty of most of these, but the last one is what really gets me:
"It is hard to credit our pain for the world, if we believe we are essentially separate from it...So, people have come to assume that feelings of fear, anger, or despair about the world are merely a reflection of personal inner conflict...We find it hard to believe that we can suffer on behalf of society itself, and on behalf of our planet, and that such suffering is real and valid and healthy." (Macy and Brown, p. 31)
The remedy for "pain for the world" as Macy and Brown call it? Grieve!!
When I first read this book last summer, I took their words to heart, bawling on the back porch, book in hand. It was cathartic. Macy and Brown suggest a series of practices to deal with "pain for the world," which so far, for all the reasons they eloquently describe, I have neglected to do. For one thing, you're supposed to do them in groups. I have a hard time with the notion of inviting a bunch of friends over to bawl with me, though I know it would probably be good for all of us. But everybody is so busy, and so on... All the typical excuses...
For now, it's a good start to remind myself that the source of my sadness is not necessarily internal. The constant barrage of bad news takes a toll. And it's okay to cry for it...
Thursday, July 31, 2008
Sunday, July 13, 2008
The tip of the Iceberg
Icebergs are a common symbol of climate change: icebergs cleaving off glaciers, icebergs melting, a polar bear standing on a lone iceberg drifting out to sea. Do we ever consider what lies beneath?
The current climate conversation is just the tip of the iceberg. It doesn't delve deep; it has no weight to it. We talk in parts per million, chemistry, symbols (graphs and polar bears), statistics and acronyms - endless acronyms. But we are communicating in code - skating across the surface, so to speak. The statistical banter and alphabet soup (IPCC, ppm, CO2, G8, etc...) is the visible portion of something much larger.
I'm not drawn to climate action because I enjoy thinking about pounds of CO2 per gallon of gasoline or because I enjoy reading long-range transportation plans. As it happens, I do enjoy the subject matter, but that's not why I care. The dry portion is just much easier to articulate than the remainder of the iceberg, buried deep in dark water.
My passion for climate and environmental work is a spiritual passion. It emanates from my love of this Earth and all things in it - a deep appreciation for all life. This love bears with it a responsibility. Not a responsibility to "save the world," but a responsibility to try to maintain an equilibrium habitable to the genetic bounty I am a part of. A responsibility not to take up too much space. In many ways this is a selfish duty - I'm looking out for the world I love. I know perfectly well that in its absence another world would flourish on this same Earth. It wouldn't take long, from a geological perspective, to grow a new genetic medley as prodigious as our own. But I don't live in geologic time and neither will my children. Neither does any other sentient being who rises with tomorrow's sun.
And it's not just other species that concern me. We would be foolish to think humans exempt. Which brings me to another contour of the iceberg's belly. Last winter, the minister's wife at the Burlington Unitarian church gave a speech articulating her sense of God. She described God as arising from the connections and relationships between people - love and community. It is going to take many, many people working in tandem, bound by a love of each other and love of the Earth, to tackle climate change. By her definition, it will truly take an act of God - something I'd like to be a part of. Climate action offers an excuse to rise above our own selfish desires and become a part of something much larger, a community of beings working in concert for the good of all life. So, my passion for climate action is religious in nature. It is a calling - a challenge - to step out of and beyond our individual selves and achieve as a species what cannot be achieved alone.
There is more to the iceberg than I can currently articulate - lying in unexplored waters. But as an illustration to accompany the previous paragraph, I want to share a short video:
http://www.wherethehellismatt.com/
The current climate conversation is just the tip of the iceberg. It doesn't delve deep; it has no weight to it. We talk in parts per million, chemistry, symbols (graphs and polar bears), statistics and acronyms - endless acronyms. But we are communicating in code - skating across the surface, so to speak. The statistical banter and alphabet soup (IPCC, ppm, CO2, G8, etc...) is the visible portion of something much larger.
I'm not drawn to climate action because I enjoy thinking about pounds of CO2 per gallon of gasoline or because I enjoy reading long-range transportation plans. As it happens, I do enjoy the subject matter, but that's not why I care. The dry portion is just much easier to articulate than the remainder of the iceberg, buried deep in dark water.
My passion for climate and environmental work is a spiritual passion. It emanates from my love of this Earth and all things in it - a deep appreciation for all life. This love bears with it a responsibility. Not a responsibility to "save the world," but a responsibility to try to maintain an equilibrium habitable to the genetic bounty I am a part of. A responsibility not to take up too much space. In many ways this is a selfish duty - I'm looking out for the world I love. I know perfectly well that in its absence another world would flourish on this same Earth. It wouldn't take long, from a geological perspective, to grow a new genetic medley as prodigious as our own. But I don't live in geologic time and neither will my children. Neither does any other sentient being who rises with tomorrow's sun.
And it's not just other species that concern me. We would be foolish to think humans exempt. Which brings me to another contour of the iceberg's belly. Last winter, the minister's wife at the Burlington Unitarian church gave a speech articulating her sense of God. She described God as arising from the connections and relationships between people - love and community. It is going to take many, many people working in tandem, bound by a love of each other and love of the Earth, to tackle climate change. By her definition, it will truly take an act of God - something I'd like to be a part of. Climate action offers an excuse to rise above our own selfish desires and become a part of something much larger, a community of beings working in concert for the good of all life. So, my passion for climate action is religious in nature. It is a calling - a challenge - to step out of and beyond our individual selves and achieve as a species what cannot be achieved alone.
There is more to the iceberg than I can currently articulate - lying in unexplored waters. But as an illustration to accompany the previous paragraph, I want to share a short video:
http://www.wherethehellismatt.com/
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
Happy climate musings...
So, getting married was sufficient to fully distract me from thoughts of climate change. Hence the blog hiatus. We had an incredible wedding: perfect weather, wonderful friends and family, delicious food, beautiful place. It was better than I dared to hope.
Now I'm back to the grind. I just began working on a research project looking at various transportation and growth scenarios in Maine towns. Today I got to read about trains. Cool! I started fantasizing about trains as the new "bling." Billionaires are spending millions on boats these days - why not trains? Mike, my husband (ahhh!), once helped to build a $65 million boat. How much cooler would it be to have a train? Way longer than a limo! And no more getting stuck in traffic with the plebes ;). The train project I read about today would extend the commuter rail from Portland up to Brunswick. It would cost about $60 million. So, hypothetically, some billionaire (the same sort who would buy a $65 million boat) could chip in $60 million to rehabilitate the commuter line. I'm sure for an extra $5 million he/she could have a sweet, pimped-out private car. And he could credit himself (or herself) for offsetting tons of carbon by getting people out of their cars and into public transportation. Now that's bling!
I also re-read Maine's Climate Action Plan (written in 2004). And I read the most recent progress report (released in December 2007). Though undoubtedly written through rose-colored glasses, the progress report was upliftingly optimistic. Though some action items had failed, others are now expected to surpass original emission-reduction estimates. It concluded that Maine is on track to meet its emission reduction goals by 2010 and 2020. Though I take this report with at least a few grains of salt (it's basically a self evaluation), I allowed myself to be taken in at least somewhat, just for the fun of it. I allowed my cynicism to dissipate and revel in state government actually doing something - a stakeholder process turning into an actual plan, at least some of which is actually implemented, perhaps even producing actual results! A government taking action on climate change and making actual progress!! Good climate news? As Michael Franti sings, "tell me lies, lies, lies, sweet little lies - help me make them all come true." There's some truth in that...
Maybe I'm just still giddy from getting married, but, hey, today's climate musings put me in a good mood. I'm gonna roll with it...
Now I'm back to the grind. I just began working on a research project looking at various transportation and growth scenarios in Maine towns. Today I got to read about trains. Cool! I started fantasizing about trains as the new "bling." Billionaires are spending millions on boats these days - why not trains? Mike, my husband (ahhh!), once helped to build a $65 million boat. How much cooler would it be to have a train? Way longer than a limo! And no more getting stuck in traffic with the plebes ;). The train project I read about today would extend the commuter rail from Portland up to Brunswick. It would cost about $60 million. So, hypothetically, some billionaire (the same sort who would buy a $65 million boat) could chip in $60 million to rehabilitate the commuter line. I'm sure for an extra $5 million he/she could have a sweet, pimped-out private car. And he could credit himself (or herself) for offsetting tons of carbon by getting people out of their cars and into public transportation. Now that's bling!
I also re-read Maine's Climate Action Plan (written in 2004). And I read the most recent progress report (released in December 2007). Though undoubtedly written through rose-colored glasses, the progress report was upliftingly optimistic. Though some action items had failed, others are now expected to surpass original emission-reduction estimates. It concluded that Maine is on track to meet its emission reduction goals by 2010 and 2020. Though I take this report with at least a few grains of salt (it's basically a self evaluation), I allowed myself to be taken in at least somewhat, just for the fun of it. I allowed my cynicism to dissipate and revel in state government actually doing something - a stakeholder process turning into an actual plan, at least some of which is actually implemented, perhaps even producing actual results! A government taking action on climate change and making actual progress!! Good climate news? As Michael Franti sings, "tell me lies, lies, lies, sweet little lies - help me make them all come true." There's some truth in that...
Maybe I'm just still giddy from getting married, but, hey, today's climate musings put me in a good mood. I'm gonna roll with it...
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