I haven’t shared any longer-form writing in over a year, which feels a bit of a shame after almost a decade of writing consistently online. But as another year comes to a close, I am feeling reflective and somewhat motivated. Sometimes when writing pieces like this, I feel more nervous to share them but often that means they will be received even more warmly. These are some words that can’t fit in a social media caption and deserve a more permanent place to live on.
What I learned in 2021 is that falling in love with the earth is very similar to falling in love with someone.
During my time in Scotland for COP26, I visited Loch Lomond, just north of Glasgow. I stood beside the water, surrounded by hillsides of green and autumnal colours and it hit me, simultaneously, how beautiful yet scary it was. How in awe I was of what beauty the natural world could create and yet how fearful I was that one day these pockets of wonder will no longer exist in their current form.
How one day, future generations – whether it is my nephews, my newly-born niece or my own, potential children – may never experience these moments in the same way I can.
Falling in love with the earth is similar to falling in love with someone because both mean taking the risk of losing them. It goes for anyone you love. The more you learn about them, the more you bring them into your world, the more you appreciate them, the more you risk losing.
I was fearful before my niece was born, that the first time I would hold her, I would break down in tears over the world she was entering. I would break down in tears because she was another life to fight for, another reason to not stop, even when I am tired and hopeless and wishing that other people would step in for me.
(Which by the way, is the majority of the time. Please step in for me and for all the other climate activists. We need everyone.)
The more I learn about this planet, the more I stop to appreciate its beauty and what it does for me, the more my heart breaks when I see it slipping through my fingers. Every day the risk becomes greater, as I fall more deeply and submit to knowing that I will fight for this in every way that I can. Every day the risk becomes greater as the world continues on a trajectory of simply not doing enough.
It also feels similar to loving someone in the sense that I have started to love myself more, too. When everything is stripped back and I am in my messy, flawed, tear-stained state, vulnerable to all that life throws at me, I know I will be supported just as I am. Nature has a place for me and a place for you. Nature wants nothing from you but for you to exist just as you are and there is nothing I find more loving than that, for someone or something, to love me for me.
These places that make me feel safe and seen and loved are also the places I run to when I have something to celebrate. When I am feeling good and happy and at peace, the first place I long to escape to is somewhere where I can run my hands through blades of green and close my eyes in some sunlight. These places hold me, even when nobody can.
It is a beautiful love story. A love story which I wish I had embarked on sooner but one which may also end in tragedy and for that, I am terrified. There is a part of my heart, the part that made me cry whilst stood at the edge of the loch, that is already breaking and bracing for impact.
There is a part of my heart, the part that made me cry whilst stood at the edge of the loch, that is already breaking and bracing for impact.
It is an even more beautiful story when you get to share it with the people you love just as much. That is when the love wins over and when the fear takes a back seat; when winning this fight is the only option because you cannot let yourself lose those moments of shared beauty. It is the drive that keeps us going, the us that keeps us going. Those moments will be in my future, in our future.
My back against a tree that I go to in my darkest and brightest days. My head on your shoulder, sitting on top of a sunlit peak or watching its golden remains sink into darkness across dappled water. My niece, asleep in my arms with my world reduced to her tiny, warm chest rising and falling in front of me.
In these moments I am fearful but ultimately, the love wins over.
