It’s not just eco-anxiety. It’s existential dread, and it’s by no means purely philosophical.
As more and more of my friends are approaching forty, we talk about our futures very differently than we did a few years ago. Most of us have chosen our paths. We settle, build houses, convert vans, and adopt animals. Some of us do the craziest thing of all and actually make babies. Most of us, in our privileged positions, are happy and excited for the choices we’ve made, looking forward to the futures they will bring us.
But last night, as my best friend A.S. was telling me about the progress with her tiny house build, her excitement was tainted by already grieving the loss of the little dream home, before it is even finished.
Somehow, it is the nesting and settling – preparing for the happy ever after – that triggers this feeling. I experienced it for the first time a few years ago. It hit me as I was finishing the ceiling of our future bedroom, obsessing over spreading the white paint evenly enough. I froze mid-movement, taken aback by the amount of effort that I was willing to put into a house in which I was unlikely to live out my day. The contrast between my zeal and its potential futility... continue reading now→
