02:30 – 01/27/2022
It’s late, about 2:30 a.m., and I’m finally winding down my day. I’ve become a night owl this winter. It started several months ago as the nights got longer and the days shorter. Now, I look forward to the solitude that the icy darkness provides. It’s just me and my muse, Oscar.
On this evening, as the arctic wind makes the bare trees shiver, producing a bone rattling sound, I’m sitting in my library, surrounded by dusty volumes of American history. By the intimate light from an equally dusty lamp, I make the last entries of the day in my journal. My buddy, Oscar, lays near-by on my desk. It’s a good time to unwind; cozy with my cat as the windchill plunges to a deadly -30 outside.
The house is creaking. It’s old joints, like mine, feel the passage of time and protest the passing of Summer’s ease. It is simply the nature of life; time passes, things change and we adapt, or we don’t.
Successful adaptation to a changing world requires three eyes; one on the past, one on the present, and one towards the future. This is not easy. We humans only have two, one is firmly fixed on the present while the second wanders, most often towards the past. In our long evolutionary trek, we adapted to a world of unchanging, immediate dangers. Getting eaten was top of the list and millions of years being dinner left its mark on how our brains are wired. We are best suited for threats that we can identify from previous experience and force us to fight or run.
Long-term dangers, situations that appear slowly, befuddle us. We adjust our thinking to accommodate slow changes, even when uncomfortable, failing to see the emerging menace. It’s like the snake that slowly coils and prepares to strike while the hapless mouse is too busy scrounging for seeds to see that lunch is about to be served.
But there are times when, if we let ourselves, we can see the snake. This ancient night is such a time. There are multiple predators who want to eat us. The easiest to spot are familiar and have been lumbering about for years. Russia and China come to mind. Both are traditional threats that our eye on history can identify. Within a few days or weeks we could be at war with one or both of them. Should Russia, NATO, and us get into a fight, China could decide to gobble down Taiwan and eliminate a primary source for electronic chips that are vital to our defense and economy. I wonder what would be for dessert?
Insurrectionists are an example of the snake slowly coiling to strike. They’ve been around since the Civil War and, because we are a racist country, we’ve ignored them. They are licking their chops. However, we have finally begun to see the patterns of racism and now can see the Insurrectionists slithering about. Time is short, but there is still time to act. How shall we have them, perhaps with Fava beans and a fine Chianti?
The biggest threat we face isn’t the historic predators that we’ve seen before. It is a monster that we’ve created and continue to feed. Climate change is already sitting at the table and having us for appetizers. The main course is in the kitchen and about to be served.
Even now, as the entire planet is being pummeled by historic storms, droughts, mass die-offs of familiar plants and animals, along with falling agricultural production, we still can’t get our minds focused on what is happening. The scope of this disaster goes beyond the present. It goes beyond our self-interest. Acknowledging our sole responsibility for this calamity requires a level of honesty that few of us seem able to muster. Understanding the significant changes that we must make, both as a nation and personally, involves an open-mindedness that is difficult for we judgemental Americans. And, to successfully respond to this threat, we must demonstrate a long-term commitment which, considering our demand for immediate gratification, appears to trump our self-discipline.
All is not hopeless. Our species, in one form or another, has been on this earth for hundreds-of-thousands of years. While we can not return to the old world that we’ve killed, it is possible to moderate the new one that is forming. We can make it less threatening, more sustainable, a place where we can continue to adapt. If we choose, we can overcome all of our short-comings.
But first, it obliges us to look about and see what’s for lunch. It’s us.
I sit with my muse, Oscar, listening to the wind sweeping in from the Canadian plains and the soft groaning of the house. Outside it is dark and cold. Winter has come. Yet inside, in the warm glow of a lamp, I pet Oscar, marvel at his soft fur, and calm my mind before going to bed. I wonder what tomorrow will bring?
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