heat waves in the middle of may

Summer arrived with a roar last week in western Washington. I joyously slipped into my summer uniform of cotton shorts and cropped tops, took long lunches with a book in the sun, beamed at everyone I encountered. I felt like I had started an incredibly effective new antidepressant. Excited, warm, I could barely conceal the glee behind my incredulous delivery: "did you hear it is supposed to hit 90 degrees this weekend?"

Then Saturday arrived. And it was hot. Not enjoyable hot, but stifling hot. Miserable hot. All weekend, I wondered if I only imagined loving 87 degree weather; only dreamed that the sun's rays felt like a warm hug and not a searing laser. The multi-day heat advisory transformed seasonal elation into a climate anxiety spiral.

I thought about how many heat waves the famously temperate region I live in has experienced in the last 5 years. I thought of elderly people, people without permanent shelter, others more vulnerable to heat waves,  and how this weather can be deadly. 

Then I think, it's only May. 

It's only May. 

What will July bring? 

What will 10 Julys from now bring? 

According to the nonprofit research group Climate Central, the expected heat wave in the Pacific Northwest was made two to five times more likely by global warming. The realist in me tries to sit with that, tries to think of summers no longer being glorious languorous endless days. 

For as much as I like to be an optimist, I don't think capitalism will fully collapse in time enough to prevent major climate changes (and let’s be honest, what else would motivate the corporations and governments who actually have the power for systemic change?). I have accepted this truth, this change, to an extent. Living in proximity to mountains and volcanoes provide a constant reminder that nature plays the long game. Nature will come back, after humans are long gone. 

And isn’t summer still beautiful, still precious, even if punctuated by smokey air and gray-green skies and crushing heat? Does any amount of perfect summer days, dripping with nostalgia even as they happen, make the bad worth it?

What if it gets worse?

(It will get worse).

(And I will adapt).

Through this stream of consciousness, I cannot shake the feeling that I should be doing more to mitigate climate change. That if I have accepted heat waves, I have accepted the inevitable end. But denial of our current reality helps no one, and I am beginning to believe that hope looks like celebration amongst grief.

I share this not to seek reassurance and assuages, nor to guilt anyone for not being a full time climate activist. I share in hopes that you will feel less alone in trying to balance conflicting thoughts and emotions.

In wondering what next summer holds.

good things on the internet

• boy meets world but it’s midwest emo 😢 

• So glad to be alive during a time where AI Drake can sing Bubbly 🎶

• 2 Chicago friends discussing a snapping turtle they found while kayaking (the ACCENTS) 🐢 

• Alice Neels’ Woman on Train (1940) 🖼️

• this:

madmenpics_

A post shared by Mad Men Pics (@madmenpics_)

currently reading

• Saint X by Alexis Schaitkin: I read this because the Hulu show sounded interesting and because I liked her other book Elsewhere. Alas, I liked the book enough to where I don’t want to watch the show because I will probably be mad at the chosen adaptation.

• A Little Life by Hanya Yanagihara: The friend I borrowed this from cautioned “enjoy the saddest book you will ever read!” And while The Year of Magical Thinking will forever be the saddest book I ever read, this book moved me in a way contemporary fiction rarely does. Content warning, literally everything horrific you can think of.

• Britt Wray & Elizabeth Cripp’s The moral duty we have to kids growing up in the climate crisis: “We can no longer think “as a human being, I just worry about the harm I do and the good I do directly”. We have to think about how almost everything we do is contributing to harm like climate change. So what becomes particularly important is working together, being activists with other people and other parents to change the political systems, to change the institutions that at the moment are limiting our choices, and limiting our children’s choices.”

this week’s jam

photo of my cats

Image description: Muir (left), stretches out in a patch of sunshine next to his brother Kerouac. Their paws are touching each other in an almost-hug, and it is adorable.