Think Happy Thoughts

The new beaver lodge in one of our ponds

Those on the left side of the political spectrum have long made fun of those on the right, viewing them as stupid, uneducated, or simply brain-dead automatons. I've done it myself on a number of occasions, probably on this blog. It's a simplistic way of thinking, however, and does us no good.

"Climate Denier" is the term used to paint them with derision, because it's now de rigueur for right-leaning politicians to pretend that climate change doesn't exist, isn't man-made, or at least is something we can successfully adapt to. In a corporatocracy such as our own, espousing such views as a politician is also highly lucrative.

It occurred to me recently that the left is also full of climate deniers, though they would never refer to themselves as such. The first stage was "change your light bulbs and recycle!", followed by "buy a Prius!", and now seems to be mostly "we'll save the world with electric cars, solar panels, and wind power".

It's not the existence of climate change that the left denies; they're simply in denial of the speed and severity with which it is occurring. Thus, the left's denial is a failure to truly grasp the reality of our situation.

Anyone who points out this fact -- that the emperor truly has no clothes -- is viewed with suspicion, as mentally ill, suicidal, or a right-wing poser who just wants environmentalists to give up their campaigns. There's a commonly held belief that we should all have "glass half full" attitudes, that we should cover up unpleasant realities with a happy facade, think only happy thoughts, and live our lives as if all were well even when it isn't. Facing an unpleasant reality is decidedly unpopular, but I think it allows us to make the right decisions and live our lives in the best way possible.

The only way we make it out of this predicament is through a massive program to remove CO2 from the atmosphere and chemically convert it into a stable form (like coal!). Stop for a moment, and try to imagine all the energy we've derived from fossil fuels over the last few centuries. The laws of thermodynamics tell us it will require more energy to return this CO2 to a stable form. Where will we get that energy, which we would need to fully deploy within the next decade? We won't, because it simply doesn't exist. That's why I'm not optimistic when people tell me that humans are infinitely creative and can solve any problem we've created for ourselves. We can no more solve this problem than we can travel at light speed or create a perpetual motion machine.

So what's to be gained by embracing the reality of our predicament, and giving up (false) hope?  Quite a bit, I think. First of all, let's remind ourselves that we all received a terminal diagnosis on the day we were born, as death is the unavoidable side effect of life. So, our situation as individuals hasn't really changed. It's only our collective situation that's different now.

Allow me to use a friend of mine as an example that we might want to emulate. At eight years old, he was diagnosed with non-Hodgkins lymphoma. He underwent surgery to remove a large tumor from his abdomen (courtesy of C. Everett Koop, who went on to become surgeon general), and his cancer treatment was successful.

He was in his late 20's when I met him, and related to me that the experience had changed his life. He knew that the cancer could return at any time, and lived his life not cowering in fear, but embracing life and seeking out adventures and experiences that most of us would put on our "someday" list.  He fully understood that his "someday" was no longer guaranteed. Our "someday" is, at this point, not a likely prospect either.  If you're not enjoying your life today, how would you change it?

The future ain't what it used to be

Yesterday evening, after dinner, I headed out into the dark to feed the horses. I was overwhelmed by a rush of love and sadness. Working with these magnificent beasts, and the associated feelings of mutual respect and symbiosis, has been one of my greatest joys. Yet, I feel like I no longer have reason to continue it.

The world I'd hoped to build with them is not to be. The farm I'd hoped might one day provide a meager income has proven itself not to be capable of such. Even in a post economic collapse world where basic necessities are of greater value, I don't see the farm working.

I've lost much of the purpose behind my homesteading endeavors of the last decade. Though I still see some value in everything we've done, I no longer feel compelled to grow or raise our own food, tan my own leather, construct my own outbuildings, farm with horses, or learn the various skills that we've lost as an increasingly industrially-dependent populace.

Jake sending some of his special air freshener my way.

You're thinking, "Aha - I told you so!  Nobody ever likes to do that much work!  We knew you'd come around sooner or later".

It is a *lot* of work, no doubt.  It's an overwhelming amount of work, if you consider that the "make it yourself" approach will typically require an effort easily an order of magnitude greater than the conventional sit in your cubicle for 40 hours a week and use your paycheck to buy it approach.

But that's not why I've given up.

"Well then... maybe you're just feeling your age."

While I am older, that's not it, either.

"Scared by the horse injury?"

No, it started well before that.

"Midlife crisis?"

Perhaps.

Though there are multiple reasons, one stands out much larger than the rest. It's not belly up just yet, but our life support systems are failing, and will collapse much sooner than I'd anticipated. We've dumped so much CO2 into the atmosphere that the earth is now emitting half again as much as humans are, as various systems die (forests dry out and/or burn) or change state (permafrost melts and emits methane). This means that we're still on the same doomed track even if we were to eliminate all anthropogenic emissions (which is about as likely as Donald Trump suddenly becoming a genuinely good person).

The farm, the homesteading skills, and the life I was trying to build were in large part an attempt to survive or thrive in an economic collapse. Environmental collapse, on the other hand, is not something that can be prepared for.

Since about age eight, I've been obsessively fascinated by environmental issues. A decade ago, our environment looked like a plane slowly losing altitude. Now the wings have come off and it's spiraling downwards. If humans last beyond mid-century, I'd be surprised. Exxon's scientists have advised the company executives that they should expect 5 degrees C by mid-century, whereas scientists have long questioned whether 2 degrees is survivable. Some scientists now suggest our future will be less than a decade. While I like to think they're wrong, each day brings news that they're closer to the mark.

Wherever you look nowadays, you'll see a failure of stability. The jet-stream, which dictates weather patterns at our temperate latitudes, no longer runs perpetually to the east as it did when I was born. It now meanders north and south far more than ever before. This is why our idiot-in-chief tweeted that "We could use a little bit of that global warming" as the eastern US set record cold temperatures. Do you think anyone mentioned to him that Alaska was warmer than Florida at the time?

When a patient receives a terminal diagnosis from their doctor, it's never a good thing. It's a point at which some people simply wither away. Others, if they're able, take such a diagnosis as an impetus to do what they've always wanted to do, and not to put it off for the tomorrow that they know will never be.

Considering my diagnosis, I'm hoping to be one of the latter, as our world still has much to offer even in its diminished state. For me, that's the return of a dream I'd long held, but put off in favor of the homesteading endeavor when economic failure was the leading contender in our apocalyptic contest.

I'd like to sail again, and fill the remainder of my life with experiences (both good and bad, no doubt) worth remembering. Will I make it? Will I give it up again as economic malaise pulls ahead?  It's tough to make predictions -- especially about the future!

My last sail on our old boat -- photo taken by a passing sailboater who asked for my email address so he could send it to me.