It’s 2065. My great granddaughter Sophie is fifteen. She has the same fascination with her past that my sister had with our past…there’s something humbling about knowing that others came before and others will come after.
I sat forward in my seat when I heard Robin Ganahl speak this weekend at a climate conference. She has a quiet, steady, purposeful presence—just what is needed in her role as community team leader for Mothers Out Front, a national advocacy organization mobilizing for a livable climate.
In her essay, “Winter Solstice”, Lisa Hupp says, “[i]t takes courage to love a place, to deliberately choose digging in and taking responsibility for its fragile well-being. Recognizing the magnitude of our impact on the community of life that sustains us means coming to terms with fear, loss, and degrees of despair.”
Sarah is my thirty-five-year-old daughter. A borderline millennial. I make her listen to all of my climate change stories before I share them with the rest of the world. She is my perfect audience. Climate change just isn’t that interesting to her. She tolerates my obsession but I can almost hear her thinking, “whatever, mom.” […]
Millennials get a bad rap. But I see it differently. I think they are our best hope. They will be the ones to melt the ice between the Democrats and Republicans, so they can sit down together to find solutions to climate change.