Wanna save the planet? Start by accepting your insignificance.

Three questions for taking authentic action in a time of global crisis

When I went home to visit my parents in early March, I had no idea that I wouldn’t be coming back. Not for six months at least. Coincidentally, the pandemic took hold of New York City just days after I left: its impact sudden and severe. Any work prospects I had in the pipeline quickly dried up, and my community in the New York theater scene, once vital and ebullient, flatlined until further notice. From the comfort of my parent’s house, coming back to “ground zero” for the sake of hunkering down in my own apartment seemed foolish, if not downright dangerous.

My parents, a dentist and a Pilates instructor respectively, were beside themselves. Neither of them had ever experienced a sudden lack of work, and the total dissolution of routine came to them as bracingly as summer hail. I sat pretty at first, under the smug assumption that the occupational hazards of being an actress — abrupt change and constant uncertainty — would amply prepare me to weather this storm with relative ease. But my flimsy arrogance was quickly deflated. It only took about six weeks without regular auditions, acting gigs, or any sort of structure for my confident exterior to crumble as if besieged from within. An invisible army of anxious fixations hijacked my impulses, while belligerent apathy demolished my once-relatively-healthy habits.

I had far too much time to think. I drank insouciantly. I strategized elaborate plots to make the best of this. I’ll pivot, I’ll start a business, I’ll find a way to make a difference in the world and fast! I was (am?) certain that my skills as a performer had become laughably irrelevant and I felt crippled by my own looming obsolescence. It was clear to me that the acute crises of the world demanded my undivided attention and service now more than ever. Yet I paradoxically ignored my own traumatic injury: a wounded ego, un-cauterized and gushing profusely.

The climate crisis occupied most of my head space. Compelled by one manic impulse after another, I enrolled in online courses, searched feverishly for volunteer opportunities, obsessively curated a new social media presence, and made budget plans to buy a school bus and convert it into an off-grid tiny home. One July afternoon, I sat sweltering in my sister’s car, secretly recording a podcast about “living green”. It was atrocious. Accordingly, I committed to reusing my razor forever and implored my dad to stop using fluoride on his dental patients because the oceans are practically dead. Most nights, I stayed awake until dawn, burning through the entire canon of Netflix documentaries and gnawing my fingernails into stubs. In the aftershock, I’d phone my beleaguered boyfriend at obscene hours with yet another five year plan inspired by the aforementioned documentaries. Chaotically and illegibly, I filled two sizeable binders with statistics on everything from recycling almond milk cartons, to deforestation, to the pros and cons of using biofuel. I learned to grow hydroponic vegetables (don’t bother) and I called my friend to start storyboarding a documentary on soil regeneration. We were 100 percent all in and sure it would be a runaway success.

And suddenly it all stopped.

The inevitable burnout beyond this mania came down on me in one decisive and brutal blow. In ten minutes I deleted about seventy-five bookmarks, trashed my to-do lists and poured the shriveled remnants of my hydroponic failures down the drain. To my mother’s dismay — and I do regret this — I dumped used coffee grounds in the garbage instead of composting them! Because the more I learned, the more I had to face the inconvenient truth: nothing and noone can save the planet. For all of our crimes against her, mother earth has finally unleashed her tsunami of grievances, leaving us to wade in a murky backwash much deeper than most idealistic documentarians dare to admit. Petitions? Donations? Social media campaigns? Grad school? Start a non-profit? Fuck it all. We’re gonna die anyway. Pass the whiskey..

And yet -

We are biological creatures. We are born, we live, we die. There is no transcendent purpose to existence. At best we are creatures of reason, and by using reason we can cure ourselves of emotional excess. Purged of both hope and fear, we find courage in the face of helplessness, insignificance and uncertainty.

• Jonathan Sacks

Post catharsis, I indeed found myself cured of emotional excess — overly so. But my disgruntled apathy also ebbed, and it revealed a heartening conclusion that still rings true:

The value of my life’s work lies in its very insignificance.

Furthermore, an inflated perception of the influence I have only thwarts my consistency. My contributions, no matter how infinitesimal, are as essential and just as easily forgotten as everyone else’s. Imperceptible yet foundational. And I have found that the humility in that knowledge helps me to release some optimistic creative impulses I’d normally choke with the heat of my chronically swollen ego. It isn’t my business (or within my power) to know what the universe will do with my work: but it is my business, as Jonathan Sacks posits, to find courage in spite of that uncertainty. In the absence of hope (for validation) and fear (of failure) I can recommit each day to shutting up and doing my work.

So how does one just shut up and do the work in today’s climate? How does one know where to begin? Though I’m far from having it all figured out, I have felt a rising sense of clarity in proportion to my diligent commitment to a an honest internal dialogue. Each week, I write a journal response to the same three questions. This structure helps me observe my own variations and consistencies over time, and I hope that you’ll find it equally helpful.

1. Where am I most influential?

I imagine this question will be most helpful for millennials (like myself) and younger generations, since we are accustomed to airing our opinions in the virtual space. If, for example, you have 200 people in your social media following who rarely see your posts and only comment once-in-a-blue-moon, then chances are, virtual rants wont incite much meaningful action and only serve to stress you out! Once I identified that my influence was far more powerful in-person, I started to reclaim my mental health and save precious time by limiting my use of social media. Take a look at your spheres of influence: work, family, team etc. Your immediate circles may be ripe with opportunities for meaningful conversations. Five epiphanies are worth so much more than a couple hundred passive views.

2. Is this problem within my power to solve?

This humbling question has helped me to separate my interests from my efficacy. So make a list of the topics or issues you care about most. Now objectively asses your ability to problem solve in those ares. For example, I am passionate about soil regeneration and care deeply about reforming animal agriculture. However, I posses absolutely no tangible skills in agriculture or biology. I could invest in a true education, or I could decide to let the experts handle it and support their work in another way. By choosing the former, I narrow my focus and commit to a long term goal. Choosing the latter absolves me of pressure to become an expert or assert well-intentioned (and all too common) pseudo expertise on a subject about which I am objectively unqualified to speak. Instead, I should can take private actions such as donating or volunteering. Either choice may lead to a very positive outcome, while toiling twixt the two will surely lead to burnout.

3. Would I still care about these topics if no one was watching?

Another slice of humble pie. This one helps me to understand my true motives. We have found ourselves in a time where the pursuit pubic recognition begins in childhood. This desire to be validated, liked and applauded is understandable given our relationship to technology, and yet it poisons the psyche. At least, I realized it has been poisoning mine. It makes applying ourselves a far more stressful experience because the pressure of pubic opinion weighs heavily on our subconscious minds. Many of us cripple ourselves by fixating on the outcomes of our actions before we begin. So ask yourself, “What do I stand do GAIN by acting in this way: Attention? Clout? Money? And would I still follow through if none of those rewards came to fruition?” If the answer is no, then you can quickly dismiss the impulse and move on with your life in a more authentic way.

These questions may be simple, but they aren’t necessarily easy to answer. Still, I have found that holding myself accountable to them regularly has helped keep my chaotic impulses in check and my mind more at ease. So, dear reader, if you are struggling like I am with a desire to be of service in this wild world while retaining your sanity, I invite you to start by embracing your insignificance. By doing so, you elude the traps of hope (for validation or recognition) and fear (of failure or shame) and begin to replace egoistic panic with humble reason. Once freshly “purged of emotional excess” you’ll be more free to answer the questions that can help clarify your most effective and authentic path forward. May you navigate uncertainty with reason, and find courage in the face of helplessness.