Greetings from the messy middle
On the pains and payoffs of structural change, plus the climate retreat is back!
The drum I’ve been beating for the entire life of this newsletter is that individual change is good, structural change is better. Structural change can seem daunting, though, like something other people do. Imagine my surprise when it was me doing it.
What started as a monthly call to go over eco action in publishing turned into the idea for a carbon calculator tool that could be used by publishers across the country, which turned into interviewing specialists, writing grants, writing more grants, building industry buy-in, overseeing the development of that tool, and then, one fine day, discovering that tool might become the industry standard around the world.
Sunny success story? Not quite yet. We have an annoying licensing obstacle, still have to get publishers to actually use the tool, then hope they affects paper choices and, ultimately, supply chains. One tool actually turned into two, and we’re still working on the development of the second, pushing those delivery timelines back.
So while I’m super pumped about the potential outcomes, we’re not there yet. But I thought I’d share a few things I’ve learned from the middle of this marathon rather than the rosy hindsight of the finish line.
You don’t have to know how to do this.
This project involved a whole bunch of new skills for me: grant writing, putting out RFQs, reviewing proposals, building support among other organizations. Stuff that felt above my pay grade. There was inevitable frustration, and most of those parts weren’t particularly fun. But you can learn new things. Ultimately, my project partner and I were the ones to do it because we were the ones who were willing to do it, who saw that it could be important for our companies and our industry as a whole. If no one else is doing it, why not you? Don’t wait for an invitation.
Don’t go it alone.
I can’t imagine doing this without my co-conspirator. We each brought certain skills and connections, different areas of expertise. But she was also a crucial person to vent to, celebrate with, to talk things through. Committed allies are essential.
People want to help.
In trying to make this project happen, I had to ask other people to do more work, and I felt sheepish about this. People in publishing already have more than enough work! But recently I was bugging our saintly production manager yet again, and she responded very kindly, encouraging me to keep at it, saying this very pestering was something she admired in me. Sure, a lot of people won’t care, but some people might be looking for a way to help. (People can be surprisingly attached to the viability of the planet.) You may not be burdening them; you may be giving them an opportunity to contribute to something they believe in.
It might not be fun, but it will be worth it.
I can say that this has brought me a fair amount of anxiety (see no. 1), and many of the parts were boring or frustrating. Often, I would have preferred not to do them. So much of what we see as radical change happens in a lot of boring details (paperwork, long meetings, laws or regulations you never wanted to care about). Sometimes you might not even effect the change you wanted. But when the stakes are as high as they are now, we have to try. What we achieve with this one project could be more than I could do on my own in a lifetime, more than even our company could. So I’m shooting my shot.
Recently I was watching one of Happen Films’ short documentaries about a man with a community compost program in New Zealand who was trying to scale up, to design and fund a mechanical compost processor so they could service more households. This doc does a great job of showing someone in the messy middle, complete with logistical struggles, financial challenges, and crises of faith.
(By the way, I love watching Happen Films content when I’m feeling down about the world. I recommend checking out the other short docs on their channel and supporting them if you feel inclined.)
Now maybe I haven’t sold this big project approach. I’ve got enough boredom and anxiety in my life, you may think.
But we can’t let discomfort stop us from doing things that matter. Discomfort is temporary; climate chaos is forever. There are land defenders and protestors and whistleblowers out there risking so much more than a bit of government paperwork or yet another Zoom meeting.
Also, you can smart small with organizing in your workplace, your apartment building, your neighbourhood: have conversations with like-minded people, talk about what you’d like to do and see if anyone has done something similar. Perhaps it will organically scale beyond your wildest dreams, like our project might, but even if it doesn’t, a collective still achieves more than you could on your own.
Trust me as someone who isn’t yet basking in the glow of success, who’s still flailing about trying to carry this forward, who sat in yet another Zoom meeting last week when it was 17 degrees and sunny: even amidst the mess, it’s still worth it. Looking back, I’ll know I did whatever I could. I didn’t just take opportunities; I made them.
Because ultimately it’s not really about the project itself, but what it might achieve. In my case: leaving forests standing to absorb carbon and purify the air, to provide homes to wildlife; reducing the CO2 in the atmosphere, slowing catastrophic heating and saving human and plant and animal lives. I can imagine standing in that forest, smelling the pine sap, feeling the soft cushion of the forest floor underfoot. Even on a bad day, I can almost hear the birds singing.
Return of the Climate Feelings Retreat
On Saturday, June 8, the climate retreat is back, ready to help you connect with people and the natural world, reset your nervous system, and let your climate feelings free range. This twice-a-year retreat is very special: though talking about heavy feelings can seem daunting, I’ve found it generative and life-affirming.
The other day I was listening to a Planet: Critical podcast episode with Erin Remblance, who was talking about social tipping points and how we get there. (These are the good tipping points that usher in positive change, as opposed to the bad tipping points like when the permafrost melts.) She said the first principle was protecting “first movers,” that is, the people in the vanguard. By protecting them, she means nurturing their beliefs, making sure they don’t feel alone, so their conviction doesn’t ebb away when exposed to the dominant society and they can keep making change and influencing others.
I think there are many things my climate retreat can do, and this is one of them. The greatest reward of it is connecting with other people who see an emergency, who see alternate pathways, who have similar priorities that may be out of step with the rest of the world. If you get a bit of that from this newsletter, you’ll get a lot of it from a day spent with others. You don’t have to be a die-hard activist in the throes of burnout to attend the workshop; you just have to be someone who feels like they have some feelings about the climate crisis they’d like to spend time with.
I’ll be joined again by the wonderful Tamara Grossutti, a climate activist, facilitator, and certified yoga teacher who will be leading us through the yoga and meditation components. I’ve taken Tamara’s climate-focused yoga classes, and they are really grounding and nourishing (and suitable for total beginners).
I know it’s a big commitment in a busy month, but I assure you it’s worth it. Here’s what Jessica has to say about it:
I have attended multiple climate emotion retreats with Jen Knoch and have taken new things from the experience every time. Being in a group of like-minded people who echo your thoughts and anxieties was refreshing and relaxing in a way I did not expect. Even better is hearing about all the amazing ways people are doing their part to make our planet and communities a better place, from small acts of kindness (or rebellion!) to large-scale collective action. Anyone who worries about climate change, eco-politics, and the future of our planet would benefit from this retreat.
Tamara and I both donate our time and our hosts donate their space so this can be accessibly priced: a suggested minimum donation of $25 for the whole day’s programming. (A super bargain in the retreat space, trust me.) After minimal expenses are deducted, all remaining funds are donated to Indigenous Climate Action.
You can read more about the workshop and register over at Eventbrite. There are only nine spaces available, so grab yours soon!
Parting Wisdom
“And isn’t that what life wants of us, really? To live with this world like we care about it.” — Antonia Malchik, On the Commons
As always, I love to hear if this newsletter lands for you — please consider leaving a comment, clicking the like heart, or sending me an email. What sustains me in this work is hearing from other first movers, other people tending their flame of climate care.
Until next time!
JK
Five Minutes for Planet is written by me, Jen Knoch, and edited by Crissy Boylan. All photos by Jen Knoch.
It's funny to hear you talk about struggling to do something big and ambitious that you don't really know how to do until you start doing it.
Sounds a lot like writing a book!