It’s the end of the year. I’m taking stock. It’s ten-thirty in the morning and I’m still in my sweats and a T-shirt. My hair is uncombed and yesterday’s lipstick is wearing thin. I’m sitting at my computer, typing, deleting, typing deleting.
I’m sorry if I’ve ever bent your ear about climate change. I’m sorry if I’ve consciously or unconsciously dismissed the important work that you are doing, thinking that you should turn your attention to climate change. I’m sorry if I’ve been arrogant, cavalier, pretentious or smug.
It’s been a rough year for a climate warrior. Every day, something new to set us back. So many steps backward that I’ve gone into a surreal denial, shuttling the bad news to some dark corner of my psyche.
I have been talking up climate change at my synagogue for some time now. Maybe that is why the rabbis asked me to give a brief personal reflection on one of the central prayers recited during these Jewish High Holy Days.
I’m not having an easy time of it. And I don’t even live in Houston or Florida or Mexico or Montana. This climate change work takes its toll.