Understanding Climate Change Through Personal Experience

The reality of climate change, once an abstract concern, now looms large in our daily lives. This summer, it has become alarmingly tangible, as I’ve witnessed its effects firsthand.

A recent incident jolted me awake: my daughter was coughing violently in her sleep. This persistent cough, accompanied by bouts of dizziness, is new and alarming. She mentioned feeling fatigued at daycare, which led to her falling down.

In June, while visiting Syracuse, I encountered the smoke from Canadian wildfires. The atmosphere turned a sickly yellow, reminiscent of a campfire, and I was unprepared for its effects. Despite the foul air, I carried on with my day—attending a doctor’s appointment and grabbing a coffee. After just thirty minutes outdoors, I felt dizzy and disoriented, with my vision fading. The air quality index on that day was a shocking 460 out of 500—far worse than New York City’s historically poor readings. Fine particulate matter, known to trigger respiratory and heart issues, was likely responsible for my sudden malaise, and it appears my daughter may have been affected as well.

This isn't the first climate-related crisis I've faced; COVID-19 was reportedly exacerbated by climate change, as human and bat interactions increased. Yet, it’s alarming to think that my six-year-old is already experiencing the consequences of our changing world. The frequency of such events is escalating, making climate change feel more immediate than ever—much like the sound of my child’s cough echoing through the hallway.

Experts often express frustration at the public’s indifference to climate change. The notion that our planet could become uninhabitable within our lifetime should incite urgent action, yet many remain unbothered. Even during the pandemic, when masking and vaccinations were essential, many chose to ignore the dangers.

Timothy Morton, in his book Hyperobjects, suggests that this sense of paralysis may not entirely be our fault. Climate change is a phenomenon of such vast scale that it can be hard to grasp. The essence of Morton’s argument is that while we can observe weather conditions—rain, sun, snow—the larger concept of climate is often beyond our immediate perception. This disconnect can lead to complacency; if the weather appears normal, it’s easy to dismiss warnings about global warming.

To truly comprehend the climate crisis, we would need a holistic view of the ecosystem, which is impossible. COVID-19 remains a threat, but if no one in our immediate circle is affected and businesses operate as usual, it’s easy to overlook the ongoing crisis. The impact of climate change is experienced in fragments, often leading to an underestimation of its significance.

This phenomenon allows people to navigate through crises while failing to recognize their severity. It’s akin to being trapped in a burning building without realizing the flames until they engulf you. Morton’s unsettling theory posits that the enormity of these crises might lead us to act less rather than more.

Yet, the last decade has shown us that the signs of climate change are becoming increasingly visible. From smoke-filled streets to extreme weather events, the evidence is all around us. Many of us are experiencing the effects of climate change, even if we perceive them through a limited lens.

During my time in Brooklyn, I acknowledged climate change but viewed it as an issue occurring elsewhere or in the distant future. Living in a bustling city made nature feel remote, something I could only connect with on weekends. My focus was predominantly on human interactions.

However, now that I reside in a rural area, I’ve come to realize my integral role within nature. The daily rhythms of sunlight and snowfall dictate my life. My food grows from the earth in this specific location, and I’ve developed relationships with the flora and fauna around me. I recognize the garlic mustard in my yard, the black raspberries in the woods, and the wild honeysuckle that scents the summer air.

From this perspective, I grasp that the ecosystem includes me, and I cannot exist independently of it. “Nature” is not a distant place; it is every environment we inhabit, including urban settings. Now that I am aware of the problem, I feel a pressing concern—yet, isn't the need for awareness precisely the challenge we face?

We are continually immersed in the climate—this is why it can feel daunting to tackle our responsibility. Morton suggests that we shouldn't expect a fetus to save its mother from poisoning; similarly, it’s overwhelming to feel solely responsible for the health of our planet. Nevertheless, we live in this reality. I am not just preserving my own life; I am ensuring my child’s future, which is as urgent and concrete a goal as one could have.

The fundamental principle of ecology is interconnectedness. The natural world should not be perceived as a mere collection of entities but as an intricate web of processes and relationships that unfold concurrently, each influencing the other. Even if climate change doesn't directly affect you at this moment, it is impacting someone somewhere—a child, a parent, or even an animal whose challenges may one day intersect with ours. We are bound together in this struggle, and I can only hope that as we bear the burden of these impacts, we can also share a collective vision for a better future.

Chapter 2: The Year Earth Changed - A New Perspective

The documentary The Year Earth Changed illustrates nature's resilience amid unprecedented global lockdowns during the COVID-19 pandemic.

In this exploration, Sir David Attenborough highlights the unexpected recovery of ecosystems during human absence.