I got lonely on my soapbox, like I was some kind of super hero, my cape flapping in the breeze. The moniker, Climate Change Warrior, started to weigh on me. It felt aggressive and combative.
At the end of October, my sister Eliana was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. The surgeon met me in the recovery room post biopsy, took my hand, looked into my eyes and said…
It was quiet in my growing up house. We closed the front door with silent deliberation and spoke to one another in soft tones. My parents didn’t raise their voices, either in anger or delight. We kept our feelings of fear, grief, sadness, even joy, corseted close, as if their release would tip the earth from her axis. Tears happened in muffled sobs in the corner of a bedroom. There was no room for anger.
We’re almost there, but don’t exhale yet! On August 28, the California assembly passed SB100—with the bold but achievable goal of powering California with 100% clean, carbon-free electricity by 2045. Keep up the momentum–Governor Jerry Brown still needs to sign the bill. This is politics and anything can happen. Stranger things have happened.
I call myself a ‘climate change warrior.’ I’ve been talking about and taking action around climate change for the past eight years. I know more about the science of climate change, am more familiar with dire predictions and have had more climate conversations with members of Congress from both sides of the aisle than many people—but in the end, I had nothing to say to my friend.