When it comes to the future health of the planet—the mother of all uncertainties—it can seem like there are only two options: ignore the terror and live in denial, or collapse under the weight of despair. But a growing cohort of thought leaders argue that neither optimism nor pessimism is a helpful choice. The best way through the uncertainty of climate change, they argue, is to pay attention to the discomfort. Yep, sit in the unknown and see what action comes from it. Sound familiar?
Dr. Britt Wray is a remarkably wise and honest guide through this one, arguably the leading voice at the intersection of climate and mental health. Because global warming isn’t just a global issue, it’s also personal. Britt knows that as well as anyone; her decision to bring a child into this unstable world is the anchor for her passion.
Her work at Stanford and as an author and public speaker have won her awards and accolades around the world. Britt doesn’t shy away from the uncomfortable (inconvenient?) truth about the mess the earth is in, but she somehow makes that very uneasiness into a tool for strength, growth and possibility. This week’s podcast conversation is rich with insights—and a surprising degree of comfort—about rethinking our discomfort.
This week’s Unknown:
My youngest son has just left home to spend another summer in the North. Not like the relatively-hospital-accessible-and-full-cell-service north; I’m talking farther north than many people have ever or will ever set foot. As I write this he is on his way north and east and north some more to spend the next eight weeks guiding a canoe trip and filming a wilderness documentary about it. Their route stretches above the 56th parallel, on the east side of Hudson Bay, near Lac Tasiujaq (formerly known as Richmond Gulf, it still shows up with that label on Google maps...)
My baby is up there somewhere, faaaaaaar from home.
Every possible item that could nourish, protect, heal or otherwise sustain my son and his crew of fellow adventurers is packed into a couple of cedar strip canoes. With nothing else but their strength, teamwork and wits, they will navigate unfamiliar and largely untraveled terrain, mighty rivers of white water and whatever weather the summer throws at them. And like the early paddlers whose traditions they uphold, they have no cellular service nor any other network of support for backup.
My son is six foot three inches tall so my days of being able to protect him are long over, but a mother bear’s primal instincts remain. I feel his absence deeply; for the next two months he exists well beyond the limits of my reach.
“Is that hard?” people ask when I show them how many sweeps it takes across the map image on my screen to span the distance between where I am and where my boy is. “How worried are you?”
But what would be the point of worrying? I have to get comfortable with not knowing what will happen—because really none of us ever does.
This week’s Love Affair:
Same coin, different side. My son is doing the thing he loves most of all.
Embracing unfamiliar territory and venturing into the unknown leads to remarkable discoveries.
At a time when digital distraction is a scourge on the mental and physical health of almost everyone, especially young people; when a growing disconnection from the natural world threatens to steer humanity off a cliff of climate disaster; when the wider world is overrun with noise and general chaos, that boy is paddling a canoe through silent waters full of freshwater seals, guiding a group of young people, deepening their shared love of untouched wilderness.
The whole thing gives me hope. As with every unknown, every circumstance outside our control, it brims with possibility.
Onward—something to consider:
Is there a potentially terrifying unknown in your life that could be reframed as something more positive? It’s a powerful mind trick—feeding the good wolf, as they say. Choosing an attitude of hope, courage and optimism. I find it the single most helpful strategy for facing down uncertainty. And it makes the wild ride through the unknown a lot more enjoyable.
Thank you, always, for reading and for listening.
Gill
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