The Comfort in Collapse

I was just talking with my upstairs neighbor a few minutes ago. He’s the recycling cop for the building. He goes through the trash and picks our the recyclable things people have carelessly thrown away, then drives them to the nearby recycling center. We were talking about microplastics and how they have now been found in the human bloodstream. It gave me an odd sense of resignation mixed with comfort.

For people my age, 60ish, down to people roughly in their 40s, I think are the last great generation of humans. Despite our best efforts, I'm afraid it's pretty much downhill from here. Yes, we can create massive solar or wind farms to be more renewable energy conscious. Yes, we can drive electric cars or bicycle. But plastic is going to be our undoing. Plastic will choke and kill our oceans, pollute our lands for thousands of years, and now, poison our bodies. Sadly, despite my and the collective efforts of so many others, the tide is just too large to overcome and I feel an immense sadness about that, and yet it's comforting in a strange way.

Being an introvert I spend a large amount of time by myself. I value and treasure that "Me Time." I meditate, employ mindfulness practices daily as often as possible, eat as little meat as possible, and recycle the crap out of everything. This is where the strange sense of comfort comes in. As strange as it may sound, watching our greed destroying the planet from the safety of my own emotional and physical solitude is what gives me that comfort. Will I keep doing the things I'm doing and educating others where possible? Absolutely. Resigning myself to the situation, however, and accepting the larger reality it brings me a sense of peace. I can let go of the desperation and embrace the inevitability of what's coming while still trying every day to make it as better as possible. When it all collapses and the air is no longer fit to breathe and the planet has gone to war over water, I will sit and sip my coffee and read my books. I will let it swirl right on by, accepting the fate of it all knowing I did the best I could. That will be enough for me.