"Eating beef without care for its effects on the environment in [North America] in 2025 is functionally climate denialism." (source)

I've long been fascinated with the tension that can exist between someone's belief or ideology and their actions. You could call it hypocrisy but I don't think that's exactly right. Hypocrisy is more explicit, saying you believe something that you actually don't. This is more subtle, closer to cognitive dissonance. Perhaps even bordering on ignorance. People can absolutely believe, whole-heartedly, in something and yet act in ways that entirely undermine those beliefs. Most often I think this is because individual actions are not seen as a part of a larger whole. They are framed in a self-contained vacuum and rarely given any deeper consideration.

For example, I could hold a belief that sharing what I have with someone who is in need is the right thing to do. Practically, if I ordered a whole pizza and ate that pizza in front of my kids who have had nothing to eat, that would be a clear contradiction and I think most people would choose to share. However, the systems have been setup so as to cut us off from seeing how our individual patterns of consumption are depriving others of having their fair share. Plus we ourselves are often geographically removed from those who have less than us so it's not as blatant. Add in all our notions of hard work and deservedness and that tension gap just keeps getting wider and more murky.

I guess my point is that there are a lot of different shades in this and each one is a different opportunity for learning and self-reflection. We all contain these tensions within us and the only way forward is to be open to learning more about how our own lives may contain functional denial of some the beliefs we hold and a willingness to change once we know.

Just picked up Donald Fagan's 'The Nightfly' on vinyl and I love everything about it.

If you've never heard it, check out I.GY. It's the kind of song I imagine myself playing as a DJ at some smokey, neon-saturated club.

Oh, I used to DJ. Just weddings and the odd work event, but it was fun nonetheless. I remember one time playing a Donna Summer song while a lone older woman danced unashamedly, arms out, cocktail in one hand. That's the sorta vibe this song gives me.

My kids and I have a variation of the same conversation about once a week.

“Dad, how come you never drive us to school?” / “All our friends get driven.” / “Why do you always make us walk?” / “But it’s a blizzard/pouring rain/tornado/-35° out there!”

My answer is always the same:

“Walking is good for the planet and good for you.”

I know. I’m that parent.

But something interesting happened when my oldest kid started the conversation again last week; my youngest answered for me. She’s been learning about ways to care for the earth in her class and they were taking a tally on how many kids drive, roll, or walk to school. She was able to make a connection between a value we’re trying to live by and what her class was teaching.

She was also super excited to walk home in the pouring rain that week. It’s a small win but I’ll take it.

The whole thing got me thinking about what “sticks” when it comes to parenting and how we talk about things that really matter with our kids. It really is less about those one-off conversations that can feel really big and important; and instead is more about the regular and consistent conversations that add up over time. It’s also what we communicate through our actions and habits. What sticks is the aggregate.

The end of the world is a popular narrative archetype. Many movies, shows, books, and video games have capitalized on this. There’s a particular sub-genre though that seems to have a particular resonance; surviving an apocalyptic wasteland with a child in your care (see, The Last of Us). It’s easy to see why it connects with people; there’s an added layer of tension that comes with bringing a kid into a survival scenario. You care about their safety, but also their future. It’s not enough for them to make it through just one moment of danger, it’s about who they need to become to make it through them all. It’s about them picking up the skills and instincts necessary for them to survive. It’s about what sticks.

Parenting in the apocalypse is a rough gig.

This isn’t a thought piece on climate despair. As Rebecca Solnit says, “the emergency is not over. The outcome is not decided. We are deciding it now.” (Not Too Late) I am not saying that we need to teach our kids how to survive a nightmarish wasteland. Probably I'm not...

The thing about putting a parenting dynamic into the centre of these stories of societal collapse is that even though it increases tension in the present, it also raises the possibility of building a better world in the future. It’s not enough to teach kids how to survive if you can’t also teach them how to love and be loved. As the brilliant novel (and show) Station Eleven put it, “Survival is insufficient.”

Parenting kids in the age of the climate crisis is about holding all these tensions together. We need to help our kids adopt more sustainable ways of living than we likely had growing up. We also need to protect them in the present and make sure that they feel safe. And we need to teach them how to love and be loved, to notice and care for all living things, to see beyond their self-interest and to help us build a better world. I hope it all sticks.

Walking with my kids has become one of the main ways I get to try and build that aggregate. We get 20 min together before and after school to talk about our days, notice things in our neighbourhood that we wouldn’t see if we drove by them, learn how to prepare for the weather, and stop and play at the park on the way home.

Amazingly, at the park they no longer care how extreme the weather is. I sometimes do though… 🥶

† Note, this is a piece I wrote for an environmental activism newsletter a couple years ago.

I just finished the final book in Tana French's body of work (so far) and I don't think I've ever so voraciously enjoyed a bunch of novels before.

If you haven't read (or heard of) Tana French, she writes murder mysteries set in Ireland. At times they even flirt with horror. The mysteries are compelling, but her character writing is even better. She writes in the first person and is particularly skilled at writing an unreliable narrator. The book I saved for last, the Witch Elm, did this in a way I will be thinking about for a while. It was a takedown of white, male privilege that unfolds in a slow burn throughout the book. It had me questioning my own life at times in some real introspective ways.

The book confronts you with questions of whether or not you can trust your own memory on how certain events played out, especially when it comes to assumptions of how those events may have affected other people. My own adolescence is somewhat wrapped up in a haze of generalizations and a certain degree of distance or detachment. Like the narrator, at times a lot of my memories feel unmemorable. This book challenges the assumption that others, particularly people less inoculated by privilege, experienced things the same way.

"When my body feels good, my life feels good, and I want to keep going, and fight for my right to exist and love and grow and evolve." (Brown, Pleasure Activism)

This is something that I think about a fair bit. As someone who suffers with a degree of chronic pain/discomfort and anxiety, I find it to be a rare time that my body actually feels like it's in a good place. What I have found, however, is how to pursue those few times that it does. Walking, for instance makes me feel good. Being outside in the fresh air, moving at a brisk pace, puts both my body and mind at ease. Pain is reduced, my anxious thoughts are calmed, and life feels good. I'm more energized for relationships or creative things. Conversely, when I go for long periods of time without walking, my body and mood deteriorate. I become irritable and just want to lie down and be left alone. I'm a worse person all around when I'm not walking.