I’ve been thinking more and more about time.
So let’s go back in time a bit.
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My earliest memory of being outside is a mere flash. I’m climbing up a rock with my father in the back of the apartment complex in which my parents resided at the time.
It was a rock. In the middle of a field. Nothing to write home about. But it’s the memory I’ve got.
Fast forward quite a bit and I find myself hopping along the stepping stones of core memories of my times spent in and with the natural world. These memories fostered a deep love inside me for animals and their ecosystems. Memories such as:
The constant companionship you feel growing up with a million pets in your house.
Hunting for lizards, snakes, praying mantises, stick bugs, rolly-pollies, with my brothers.
Finding baby bunnies in our backyard one Easter. My Papa raising chickens on my grandparents’ farm in Kansas.
Building forts out of fallen branches and vines in every empty lot in our neighborhood and staying there all weekend long.
Watching Blue Planet by David Attenborough 34540923 times over. Steve Irwin being the coolest guy on the planet.
The camping trips on which my dad took me and my brothers that somehow always resulted in a torrential downpour.
These memories and many more fostered an inextricable affinity for our Earth that I feel as though I must have had since I was born.
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Let’s follow a different timeline now, starting in grade school.
We had a “save the rainforest” project that we turned into a fundraiser to indeed try and save the rainforest.
I told my family we should start recycling.
(Climate change itself at that time was still a generalized question mark to [potentially] be addressed on some future date.)
In middle school I would put up posters of endangered animals on lockers and in hallways to try and spread awareness and “do my part”.
In high school, I completed a year-long project on sustainable agricultural practices and the importance of soil health in our ecosystems.
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I firmly believe that, in order to find out more about who we are as individuals—what we want, what we like to do, how we think—we have to remember who we were as children.
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As I have been ruminating on all of these memories as I constantly try to uncover more of who I am, I have come to believe that the issues of conservation and climate change must be some sort of part of me.
Nature has always brought me back to who I am. It’s how I reconnect with myself, with my surroundings, with stillness and appreciation. With God.
And that’s why remembering that so many years ago I was worried about the planet is so strange to me. Because here we are.
It’s strange because I still feel like that 4th grader who sold baked goods to donate to conservation NGOs. Like that 5th grader who typed up posters using WordArt to try and get people to care about endangered painted dogs in Africa. Because it still feels like no matter what I do, I don’t have enough power to actually change things. I can eat primarily plant-based for almost five years, and it still feels like not enough. I can attempt to recycle every last bit of plastic touched by my hands, and pledge to use a reusable water bottle for the rest of my life, and it still feels like child’s play.
But I remember thinking all those years ago that when I’m older, I’ll save the planet. That’s what I told people I wanted to do when I grew up.
This feeling of childish helplessness is something that I, and I believe others who care as well, have to confront. It is a sad fact that we can’t all be in a grandiose position of power to change the ways of the biggest contributors to this problem. And, of course, it's a lot more complicated than just pressing a big STOP button.
But it’s still so hard to struggle to help and “do your part” when it feels as though the hands in this issue are not all carrying the same weight. How can you bear to watch as you try to take on more weight, but it feels like your hands aren't big enough?
If getting out and into nature has saved me from my mind more than once, why can’t I seem to be able to return the favor?
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Yes, I’ve been thinking and thinking and thinking about time.
My time. How I want to spend it.
Our planet’s time. How much of the world as we know it do we have left? I hate thinking that way, but sometimes I can't help it.
And that’s why today I’ve decided to begin doing what I want to do, and what I know I can hold in my hands: Writing about the things that matter to me in the hopes that it helps a little bit more.
Because yeah, writing a little something for Earth Day for the past four years (and counting!) maybe has done nothing.
But maybe it’s done something.
So here I am, writing. Baring my soul, and making a promise to do so more often in the hopes that it sparks questions and conversations between people, and that it helps others get up the courage to do what they’ve been putting off.
I think my ‘why’ starts here, with sharing my words about things that matter to me. Writing about experiences in the world, how wonderful of a place it is, and how important it is to preserve it for generations to come.
So apart from the commencement of sharing my writing, I am starting to plan my next adventure on this marvelous planet that I will always call home in the hopes that it will spark more words, more thoughts, more conversation; more hope.
Because it all comes back to hope in the end. Hope is what we need to stretch our hands a little wider; carry a little more. So I hope today you start searching for your next adventure, too.
Because nothing beats getting outside and exploring.
Happy Earth Day.