Forging a new path.

I’ve just tried to read this excellent essay by climate scientist Joelle Gergis in the Quarterly Essay which came out in August 2024.

It is an insightful, detailed piece of writing about climate change, and about the lagging, lazy response of successive Australian (and international) governments to this critical issue, and the continuing pandering to fossil fuel companies.

I say I tried to read it because Joelle has gone into detail about the myriad ways the planet is burning, and the lack of action. Much of it I don’t understand, much of it I found so devastating to read I had to skip over it. Fundamentally though the key takeaways for me are that the planet is already getting hotter year on year, collectively governments aren’t doing enough, they’re attempting to circumvent the issue by using carbon capture technology that is not effective enough, and we need to recognise that Australia can be a leader in this space - we have sun and water and space to deliver excellent renewable energy options, but we’re not doing this.

I read this while seeing the news of wildfires absolutely ravishing LA.

And I had that most awful of feelings, the feeling that most challenges my neurodiverse brain - I felt, and feel, like this is all beyond my control.

I know that people will respond to that sentence by saying ‘but we can do so much as individuals, we have to think global and act local’, and as much as I can, I do, but Team, come on, there’s only so much that my composting, recycling, buying secondhand clothes, planting trees in my garden, eating less meat and catching public transport can do. I vote for the climate and I write to politicians when the very worst decisions are made. But let’s be real, this is peanuts!

I am also deeply trapped in late stage capitalism. I overconsume, and I often consume for convenience (ready made meals and snacks in plastic wrap, driving 500m to pick up my kids rather than walking, forgetting my reuseable coffee cup but buying the coffee anyway in the disposable cup). I could do all of those things better, but I’m not sure how much impact it would have on the planet, and the impact it would have on me - as I try to work full time to pay the mortgage and rising living costs, raise two kids, keep the house tidy, sleep at least 7 hours a night, exercise regularly, support my ageing parents and be a decent human - would be massive. So even though I feel guilty everytime, the convenience of a squeezable plastic yoghurt pouch for my kids lunchboxes does make my life just a bit easier.

But that’s representative of the culture isn’t it. That’s what we are all doing. We are taking the easy option. Yes as individuals, but our governments are also taking the easy option, they are pandering to fossil fuel companies, because it is easier than pushing against their dominance, than, forging a new path.

So my overarching question is ‘what do I do?’, what can I do? Yes, I can reduce the plastic I use, I can go and help with my local landcare group (with what time, I don’t know?), and encourage my community to drive less and eat less meat, but these are tiny, negligible responses in the face of a catastrophic climate crisis. And, I can see how easily people slip into the nihilism of ‘why should I inconvenience myself and consume less which has minimal impact, while governments and corporates continue to chant “burn baby burn” to the planet’.

So what do I do? What do we do? I’m genuinely asking.

Normally I am innately hopeful, but in the face of all of this I don’t know how to be. Please give me some hope, or at least some action I can take.

Making life worth living.

Recently I have found myself drawn to reading beautiful articles by brilliant women writers describing how awful and hard life is, and, also how very beautiful it is. Currently this one, and this one, are rattling around in my head. I’ve read both multiple times, and I’d encourage you to do the same.

I don’t think this is a new trend, I think people have always been writing about the way in which life is horrible and wonderful simultaneously, but I don’t think I’ve been open to this way of thinking until recently. Before this, my perception of life was completely binary, it was either horrible and I was suffering, or it was joyful. I didn’t understand the way in which a multitude exists simultaneously.

But it does. It always does.

I also understand why many people don’t want to talk about the joy when there is so much suffering. I don’t need to list the horrors of the world, you know them. They are many and they are horrendous, and terrifying and heartbreaking. They are wars, and violence and deep, intentional cruelty, they are hunger and neglect and exclusion, they are loss and illness and deep inequality. They are so immense and so horrible and so tragic.

And I could cry, wail and rage for my whole lifetime about them.

I keep reading and then rewriting on scraps of paper and in notebooks this poem by Nikita Gill over and over again.

Everything is on fire,

but everyone I love is doing beautiful things

and trying to make life worth living,

and I know I don’t have to believe in everything,

but I believe in that.

-              Nikita Gill

It is such a small poem, but the truth of it burns me every time I read it. One thing I’m not so sure about is the line where she says, ‘but everyone I love is doing beautiful things and trying to make life worth living’. This is not always true in my experience.

Many people I love are trying to make life worth living, but they are not doing beautiful things. I’m not judging this, I’m really not, I have many many times in my life tried to make life worth living by doing destructive or damaging or pointless things. I get it. Life is so very hard sometimes and so many things, all kinds of vices (for me it was/is binge watching crap TV, eating junky food, doom scrolling, comparing my life to the lives of others) seem to make life worth living for a moment, but it never lasts long, life gets profoundly worse instead.

But Nikita, and Roisin, and Lorin remind me how many beautiful things there are that make life worth living. And I don’t think I’m at all original in sharing this, but here are a few of mine, take what you need.

• Sourdough toast that is slightly cool so the butter sits on top and doesn’t melt into the bread, with a lashing of vegemite, and a really hot cup of tea.

• Soft windchimes tinkling in a light breeze (I can hear this right now).

• Watching a plant grow. Far out, how joyful is it to buy a tomato seedling from Bunnings, chuck it in a pot with some dirt, water it every couple of days, and in a few weeks it’s a fruit bearing vine, far out.

• Cuddling my beautiful boys when they have just woken in the morning, their skin is extra squishy, their eyes still full of dreams.

• Going for a big, long, hot walk and then drinking a glass of water.

• Dancing to a good song, and oh gosh listening to a good song, and there are so many good songs, thousands and thousands, and somehow, I have stored the lyrics to many, many, many of them in my head, and I can belt them out and feel them so deep down. Ooh I love that.

• Hopping into a bed with fresh sheets on it. I know many people share this as a daily joy but fuck it’s good.

• Surprising someone with a loving act. Yesterday I went and picked up my ageing Dad from the airport. He didn’t know I was coming. He said he’d catch a cab home, but I went and surprised him. The look of relief and love on his face when he saw me gave me chills. Plus, my beautiful husband had gone and bought Dad some basic groceries (milk, eggs, cheese, apples etc) so that he didn’t have to go shopping after his trip. Goodness my Dad felt loved, and he is, he is so so loved.

• Laughing at something absolutely silly. Recently my younger son went to a birthday party and they had an entertainer, he did a routine with this massive red balloon, that he somehow blew up big enough that he could climb inside the balloon and bounce around in it. It was so silly and so funny, I had tears streaming down my face with laughter, I was laughing ten times as hard as any of the kids, but I couldn’t stop, it was so silly, and I loved it, and I love that man forever for giving me that delicious laugh.

• Cheese. It’s so tasty and honestly it makes life a little bit better with every bite. My current favourite is red Leicester, have you tried that delicious bitey, salty cheese? It’s just yummy.

*I’ll keep adding to this list over time. And please share yours below…

A little bit of this. A little bit of that.

About every month I write an email which I send to my mailing list, it shares nice things to read, watch, eat, and do, and it’s just a little injection of joy, and it keeps me writing. You can read it here, and you can subscribe on the front page of the website.

Home cooking

Recently I received a lovely surprise in the post. It was a pot - like a cooking pot - that my Mum sent up to me from Melbourne. She has recently moved into a new house, and is downsizing and decluttering. This pot is something I told her years ago that I would like to inherit one day. It is a red pot with a print on the lid, and around the sides of Egyptian hieroglyphics, it is non stick (maybe enamel?) and it has metal handles.

I’m not sure where and when my parents got it, it may have been a wedding gift, and then one of the pieces that ended up in my Mum’s pile when they split up 20-odd years ago. I love it because it reminds me of my childhood. It reminds me of my Dad cooking lentil soup and pumpkin soup, or Mum making Hungarian goulash, or Osso Bucco (when people were coming for dinner), or cooking the spaghetti to have with bolognaise sauce.

I think when your parents are divorced it’s easy to only recall the negative - the arguments, the loss of the family home, and the sadness at losing your core family unit - so it’s nice to think about some of the lovely times and the things that brought us together, and food was one of those things.

We weren’t a ‘foodie’ family in the way I see other families absolutely relish food experiences together, but there were certain dishes we ate over and over again that take me back to fond moments where the four of us sat around the table and enjoyed bowls of goulash and mashed potato, or watched ‘All Creatures Great and Small’ with bowls of lentil soup and hunks of bread and butter in our laps.

This all got me thinking about our regular family meals - the meals I cook for my family (my husband and two kids) over and over again. Unfortunately my boys are still tremendously fussy eaters, meaning that most of the time they have a bento box style plate of food for dinner (meat, cut up fresh fruit and veg, rice or pasta, a piece of cheese, roasted potatoes), and I cook something different for Nick and I. The meals on regular rotation in our house are:

• chilli (often vegetarian chilli - kidney beans, vegetables) served with rice or corn chips

• dahl (lentil and tomato dahl) served with rice or naan bread

• beef and vegetable stirfry

• home made pizzas

• basic pasta (with whatever is left in the fridge - bacon, zucchini, mushrooms, cheese) or macaroni cheese

• minestrone soup (in winter)

• spaghetti bolognaise

Looking at that list I still love cooking and eating all of those foods, and I’m amazed at what a range of cuisines are included in that list, it makes me reflect on how absolutely blessed we are in Australia to have such diverse food influences. I asked some of my friends what their go-to meals are and the cultural influences on their dinners was wonderfully diverse too. In fact I got a little bit inspired to expand my repertoire because they had delicious additions like spanakopita, fried rice, rice paper rolls and different curries.

I wonder as my boys move out of the phase of wanting only certain foods and join us for a standard family dinner what their favourites will be, and what they’ll recall when they’re older as the meals that brought us together, and what they will in turn cook for future partners, friends and families.

And I hope that the beautiful red pot becomes a source of lovely memories and family connection for them too.