Quietly Showing Up
(This post follows Blog 2: The Sugar Maple and the Long Now, where I reflected on legacy and planting for futures we might never see.)
Let’s be honest. Most of us aren’t Gandhi or MLK. We’re not standing in front of bulldozers or organizing mass movements. We’re not flying across the country to protest. We’re not going to make the news. We’re definitely not going to trend.
We’ve got jobs. We’ve got kids. We’ve got a leaking tap and a back that hurts. Some days, we barely have time to care — and yet we do. Quietly. Deeply. Sometimes with a little guilt.
I’ve lived in that in-between place. Not passive, not unaware. Just unsure what to do with what I knew. So I started small. I stopped mowing most of our back field. I built a few bluebird houses. I planted a butterfly garden with seeds I found online. Not because I thought it would change the world, but because it felt like movement in the right direction.
The neighbors noticed. Around here, the lawn is a badge of honor. I didn’t always have the courage to explain why I let things grow wild. I’d joke, “Don’t call me a sissy - I just don’t want to kill anything.” That line got me through the awkwardness. But it wasn’t really a joke.
I’d always seen field mice here and there. It’s 20 acres, after all. But once I stopped mowing, I saw more of them — not just surviving, but thriving. Then, about three years in, I saw owls. Two of them. I hadn’t built boxes or followed any conservation plan. I just stepped back. I made space, and something good moved in.
Of course, not everyone has land to stop mowing, or tools to build birdhouses. But most people have five dollars. Or five minutes. Or a little bit of attention to give.
That’s where I started too. I gave a few dollars to the Sierra Club, one of the groups fighting to protect the last ancient giant sequoias. I left a small donation at a local group’s office — not a big national campaign, just a space where people gather to push back against injustice. It might have been a domestic violence center. It could have been a group working to end animal cruelty in circuses. The point was to do something. Even if it was just a quiet envelope and a nod at the front desk.
Later, I signed up for a UN volunteer platform. I joined an online group where people were showing up, not just doomscrolling. I didn’t feel like a hero. But I didn’t feel stuck anymore, either.
This isn’t a story about saving the world. I’m not even changing the neighborhood. But I’m participating. I’m not frozen. That feels like a start.
No one of us can fix this — but each of us can decide how we’ll respond.
And sometimes, all it takes is one small movement in the right direction.
I’d genuinely welcome your thoughts — whether you agree or disagree. But if you feel like sharing, I’m especially interested in your personal reflections… how you navigate these questions, if they matter to you. And if this resonates, feel free to share it with others who think or wonder along similar lines.
OMG. This is a seriously moving piece. I want to share it with others. There are many who have anguished over similar issues and in their own ways made efforts to remediate the unfolding assaults against nature.
ReplyDeleteWhoever else reads your writing will certainly feel the peace and understanding it conveys. So many feel that they can't change or save the world, when simply doing what is right may be all that is needed.
ReplyDeleteWhen I was eight years old, attending elementary school in Germany, our teacher taught us to pick up earthworms after a rainstorm—we aptly called them "rain worms." While many of the kids showed fear or even disgust, I was enthusiastic. She told us, "Every creature in the wilderness matters and has a role. We take away their living space with our buildings and our roads; let’s find ways to give something back."
ReplyDeleteYears later, this same teacher organized a group of volunteers to help frogs migrating to ponds to spawn. They had to cross a major road in my hometown. At night, we would gather with buckets and flashlights in hand, picking up the little creatures, stopping traffic, carrying them to the ponds—and a few nights later, we would meet again to escort them back into the woods they had come from.
To this day, I still pick up earthworms from our driveway and the roads around our home after a storm. My husband and I also escort turtles across the street to our pond—and back again later (the frogs stick around, so thankfully they don't need transportation!).
I will be forever grateful to this teacher—Nora Neese; I have to say her name here—who changed the way I see the natural world.
Thank you, Goutam, for planting seeds, for letting your grass return to its original state, for caring for the insects, the birds, the mice and all the other creatures who share your land. It’s so encouraging, enlightening, and hopeful! And it truly is anchored in the so-called "little things," not necessarily the grand gestures, that real change begins.
This is very touching and I wish everyone I know to read this. No one deserves to just survive, but to live with purpose and freely as we all do each day.
ReplyDeleteThis really resonated with me. It’s easy to feel like small actions don’t matter, but you’ve shown how simply making space — in a field, in our time, or in our attention — can invite good things to grow. It’s a comforting reminder that even the smallest movement in the right direction still matters.
ReplyDeleteA simple act of taking canvas bags to the grocery store instead of single-use plastic, the act still matters. If a billion of us did that, countless marine lives would be saved.
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