I'm okay
Back on track with a chapter; Anthropocene anxiety at a low; progressing health-wise
10,000 minutes
I didn’t intend to take a month-long summer break since my last pre-Christmas post but I’m glad I did. Two thirds of my days since then have involved hectic interactions with grandchildren and I surrendered to the loss of writing time that entailed. Chapter 14 of the book came close to destroying me—there were days when I just stared at white paper, unable to find a way to recount the early history of nuclear reactor safety—but yesterday I found a way through that impasse. I’m back and sizzling with energy.
I suspended regular project planning and monitoring when the chapter glued up. Now I’m aiming to finish by the end of March (actually a hiking trip will defer the final bit of work until mid-April). The next fortnight will be pivotal so I’ll try to stay at the desk while remaining fit and sleeping as well as I can.
Monsters
Anthropocene fears, rage, and dejection hammer some of us more than others. I’m sure social scientists have tried to “measure” such emotions but just looking around gives a pretty complete picture: my generation (65+) is largely blase while the youngsters (30-) suffer fleeting anxiety amidst busy lives. Personally, I can obsess on the subject with my partner, one son, and one dear friend, but as for the others closest to me … I find myself quite alone with my whipsawing existential concerns.
But change is afoot with me. The need to read everything out there on the subject is evaporating: I now know what I don’t know and can see little point in comprehensive further research. Second, I’ve formally locked in a decision to burrow into my writing, to not reprise my Extinction Rebellion involvement but rather to donate money instead of time. And third, I’m close to succumbing to an attitude I used to detest: “I’ll be dead soon, so what will be for my grandchildren … well, it will be.”
All of which has led to climate anxiety abating. But I have made one 2025 resolution. To underpin my days, I’ve come up with six slogans beginning with the word “one,” and one of the six is “ONE VOICE.” In 2025 reserved Andres, quiet at the back of the room, will switch to Pollyanna Andres, the nag you wish away. Any conversation, just watch, I’ll be the one railing about the future, shouting “fuck Trump,” and readily shedding tears. Will you join me?
As for keeping track of the monsters we fear within this climate crisis? What am I to make of the LA fires? What of Ricky Lanusse’s evocative (in a foreboding way) essay about the scientific debate around a prediction of the AMOC collapsing in just over three decades? What of one of Trump’s cronies hoping to destroy American thermometers so the continent’s warming can be more easily denied? And do I heed Jessica Hullinger: “Mauna Loa’s measurements show that between 2023 and 2024, CO2 concentrations rose by about 3.6 parts per million, the largest annual increase on record, meaning that not only are CO2 emissions still rising, but they’re rising faster than ever.” I don’t weep but do avert my gaze (at least for this moment).
Mortality
Stasis. No injuries, no alarming bloods, respectable energy levels… I can’t get my weight down to optimal levels but the gap has narrowed. I can’t get back to running five kilometers without stopping to walk/run but will be joining a local running group this week with the aim of upping my discomfort tolerance. It took me months but finally I’m obeying my physiotherapist’s wishes and lifting fewer reps at the gym at higher weights (“just shy of failure, Andres”). I started what I call “intervals” at a nearby famous football ground (see below): trying to sprint half a circle, from goal posts at one end to those at the other, then jogging slowly as recovery. It was hell, I’m not sure it achieved much, I’m unclear whether I can force myself to repeat it, but hey, it feels like progress. And end of March will see a five-day New Zealand hike to toughen up feet gone soft.
For once, no complaints, almost peace of mind.
