As the time of resolutions draws near (and as virtually everything I care about in this world is taking a siesta behind me in our hotel bed in Madrid), I want to reflect for a moment on what this pledge means to us. One problem with a resolution is that it implies a binary outcome: you either keep your resolution, or you don’t. In my mind, the hard-and-fast nature of a resolution induces pressure and, thereby, reduces the likelihood you’ll achieve your goal, especially your true underlying intention.
To me, that’s not what the pledge is about. We’ve only been at it for a couple months now and I’m embarrassed to say just how many times I’ve already fallen off the wagon. Despite being nearly 100% vegetarian these past several weeks, I’ve snuck a piece of pepperoni pizza from the lunch room at work. And I’ve turned the heat up beyond 60 degrees because I was tired of watching my kids run around the house in jackets, even though they were perfectly fine. I even still eye those tickets to Alaska for my birthday despite waxing poetic about losing my mom, her love for travel, and the nature of true sacrifice in an earlier blog post. If I’ve learned one thing about making a major lifestyle change, it’s that intermittent failure comes with the territory.
By contrast, the pledge is better seen as a process. There will be good days and bad, moments of inspiration and moments of true weakness. But, even in those instances of failure, I see progress: I am increasingly cognizant of the choices I am making, and what they mean for the planet, even when I make a bad one. I may grab that slice of pepperoni, but I don’t do it as thoughtlessly, and therefore know that I’m slowly beginning to live life in a sustainable way that does justice to my children. With each decision, and an awareness of it, the climate crisis is more a part of my consciousness. That’s what it’s all about, isn’t it? Consciousness? Until we, as a country and planet, become acutely aware of what’s at stake in our daily lives and the pressure we are placing on finite resources, nothing will change. That, I believe.
The Buddhists have a phrase I like: relaxed diligence. Though I am wracked with guilt about what is likely coming for my kids, I cannot change the future all on my own. Nor will I give them what they most need right now to prepare them for the future—a happy, carefree home that also involves steady communication about protecting our anemic planet—if I let that guilt and anxiety overtake me. All I can do is give my best every day to change the future for the better, all while finding peace in knowing what comes next is out of my hands.
With that, I’ll sign off so I can wake up my family, and try to share an evening filled with wonder and laughter on our adventure abroad.
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