Don’t say Happy Earth Day to me, please. Seriously.

Peruvian Sunset.

Part 1

“People only protect the things they deeply love. And you don’t truly love something unless you inherently identify with it.” — 180° South.

To celebrate my birthday a few weeks back, my partner and I took a trip to the Cal Academy. We had tickets to a planetarium show. After walking around all evening, we went in feeling happy to rest our tired feet. Soon we found ourselves absorbed in a beautiful and mesmerizing display of the immensity of our universe. Aah! we felt humbled. We often engaged in cosmic discussions that evoke such emotions, but this feeling was somewhat different. It became a discomforting feeling of awe as we processed how precarious and by chance our existence is. Let me tell you, this feeling was not about what we are doing to our planet today nor how insignificant one feels when exploring the vastness of our universe. It came from learning about our planet's formation and existence. How a series of unrelated and insignificant events made our solar system-- the events we had nothing to do with when even the ingredients to conceive us did not exist.

As we stumbled out of the planetarium, my agnostic partner whispered, “That was like a church to me.” I tearfully nodded, recognizing instantly the emotion he was putting into words. The immensity of our world is staggering, and all of it was created by such micro flakes of chance. And it did not stop there — our planet birthed us through the most excruciating labor over millennia.  Our story is tied to the story of every single plant and animal that has ever taken a breath on this planet and also to those who are breathing today.  From the the very first carbon particle to the many chemical reactions in aquatic microorganisms, to dinosaurs, to that dog I love so much; that tree I don’t know the name of-- all are my cousins-- my primal family. This pale blue dot is my home. My only home.

Part 2

“The best journeys answer questions that in the beginning you don’t even think or know to ask” — 180° South.

While traveling in Peru earlier this year, I was at a hostel in the beautiful city of Cuzco.  One morning as I woke up in the confines of my dorm room, I jumped out of my bunk bed and walked around the small and cozy grounds looking for a place that didn’t breathe into me-- where I could stretch and claim some space of solitude. I walked on a beautiful tiny balcony, and my being found respite. I could exhale the strain that sharing spaces brings to me and inhale the view of being perched up this magnificent valley town.

Soon, I heard the clatter of breakfast being laid on a table and my hunger started competing with the respite that tiny balcony provided. Simple bread, butter, jam, tea…so sumptuous and perfect it felt. The hunger won, and I sat down to eat when another fellow traveler joined me at the table. He and I both had books for company-- a simple nod symbolized a recognition of our shared love for the written word. And instinctually, neither of us felt the need to break the silence; we both knew the other enjoyed-- maybe even craved it. Half a bun later, a few more travelers joined us, and they seemed to be lovers of the spoken word and brought me and my fellow bookworm to the sudden loudness of that present moment.

After the question and answer session —  where are you from, where are you going, etc. etc-- the usual questions that one eventually scripts answers to make the process more automatic and less effortful --  my fellow bookworm and I engaged in a conversation. The silence between our exchanges was as precious as the thoughts we shared. We spoke about many things — our work, why we travel and somewhere in that exchange of ideas, he also mentioned a movie that he felt I would love. The name was easy to remember but also easy to forget-- ‘180° South’.

I came back home after that 2-months trip — soaked in devotion to the beauty and bounty of our planet. I was sorrowful to return to the mundanity of my routine and its carbon footprint--to the political chaos and divide in the country I had made home, the devastating news of floods in Peru, and that urgent conservation agenda’s being tossed aside. Strangely, the name of that recommended movie popped into my head. By now, life has taught me that intuition should not be ignored, and before I knew I was already watching it tasting the tears that kept rolling down my cheeks-- learning how one is moved to protect what they love and truly identify with-- how an adventure begins when things go wrong.

Part 3

“The hardest thing in the world is to simplify your life. It’s so easy to make it complex. What’s important is leading an examined life. — 180° South

Ironically, this piece took birth through me on Earth day-- the day that reminds us of the fragility of our pale blue home. And even though there is so much going wrong, I don’t feel somber today. This day has a deeply spiritual quality for me; it has a significance that I cannot explain. It feels like a symbol of something primal and intrinsically tied to my identity. Yet I sense a worry in me-- ‘will this day also become another posting on my social media feed  - a sincere, inspiring and urgency evoking writeup-- or drive to do chores-- visit the movies or go on with my life with the thought about Earth Day somewhere hidden behind insignificant things? I couldn't just let it be one of those days. As noble as the thought was, I couldn’t go marching on the streets, convincing others why the day was so important and special. Instead, I was pulled to the gnawing need to dive deep into my being and explore what the significance of this day held for me and why. And with that understanding, I dissected my own life, my own actions. And I decided what I would do on Earth Day. What could I do differently on that day?

So, please don’t wish me a happy Earth Day; instead, maybe join me on this adventure when things are going so wrong-- an adventure that needs to go beyond 24 hours. Dive deep into your soul to figure out what your home means to you? How significant is it to you? How do you identify with it? Do you truly inherently love it? And does that love move you to do whatever you can to protect it? But most importantly, how can you make sure its precariousness is not being violated by you, not by anyone on the other side of political or national lines? You-- How you live-- How you exist. Today.