My oldest sister is a climate scientist, and in some ways, that can be depressing, because--well--anyway, let's not get into that. In many ways, she is also the most climate-optimistic person I know. It's not that she doesn't know where the world is going, or that she's fearful of what will happen. It's that as part of her work she is on the ground, working with people on projects large and small, and she sees what is happening.
She is the one who has made me believe that climate optimism--even in the face of the world we live in--is possible, that human care and creativity can transform the world, even as we watch cruelty take center stage.
It was kind of a surprise to me when we spoke this last weekend and I found out that I was the optimistic one about what is happening in our country. It's not that I think that everything is fine; I am acutely aware of every way in which things are going to shit. It's just that the more I do, the more I see what is being done. I see how hard people are fighting, and I see that we can win. That has been fueling my optimism in a very, very dark time.
For me, optimism is not merely a matter of outlook. It is an outgrowth of what I do, who I am involved with. If there's an area where I'm not involved, all I see is the nothing being done that surrounds me. Being involved means manufacturing hope, not just for the people around you, but for yourself.
The Chicago Sun-Times wrote a profile of the loose federation of 3D printing enthusiasts I've been working with. As the article says, we've collectively put over 150,000 whistles in the hands of community members, and we are scaling rapidly.
We're just a bunch of people that saw that people were running out of whistles and started printing, and then started figuring out other people to talk to, and so on. But the act of doing so connects us with organizers, with people delivering mutual aid. It is a source of hope for me, and it keeps me grounded in times when the ground feels like it will disappear out from under me.
I still feel angry. I still feel sad. But I don't feel helpless, because I am helping. And that matters.