The Discipline of Vulnerability

One of the most spiritually toxic ideologies I’ve shed in the Environmental Studies program

is the ‘myth of the individual.’ What a tragic side-effect of a capitalist society this is!

(and hardly coincidental, as capitalism relies on individuals imagining themselves as isolated)  

I used to joke that being an artist is a delicate dance between narcissism and debilitating self

doubt. What I’ve come to realize is that both of these feelings are inherently self indulgent, and

the instances of my most visceral joy emerge from shared experience where neither narcissism

nor self doubt are remotely relevant. I’ve found that collective creativity is really what colors

my life experiences and sustains my light&heavy-hearted hunger for being human.

So what is art all about anyway? I’ve been asking myself this question for years and the most

contemporary answer I can offer is that it’s the discipline of humility, vulnerability and

imagination. I feel that the world beckons every one of us to participate in the ever-unfolding

conversations of what we’re all doing here and how we can become closer to ourselves, to

each other, and to other more-than human beings (all synonymous?). “Millions of people are

working on the behalf of strangers,” writes Paul Hawken. Is the nature of that work in

reconciliation with our own pain of feeling dispossessed by humanity? Don’t we all feel a

certain gravity towards one-another which longs to fill the spaces carved out by capitalism,

colonialism and other hegemonic powers?

So what is compelling about living in the ‘anthropocene?’ I so appreciate the refreshing

questions posed in Josh Fox’s documentary, How To Let Go of the World and Love All the

Things Climate Can’t Change: “What are the things that climate change can’t destroy?” He

asks. “What are those parts of us that are so deep, no storm can take them away?” In other

words, what makes a climate-changed future worth living in? Oh, with such unspeakable

violence routinely on the fringes of our consciousness, could this be the question of our

time? For me, the unequivocal answer is: strong communities utilizing colossal courage,

innovation and radical love to collectively adapt to impending changes yet to come, while

continuously asking how a more just future might look. Similarly, Paul Hawkens writes,

“Inspiration is not garnered from the litanies of what may befall us; it resides in humanity’s

willingness to restore, reform, rebuild, recover, re-imagine, and reconsider.”

Environmental Studies taught me that hope is not a feeling, it’s an action. ENST has

encouraged me to practice a discipline of humility, vulnerability and imagination so that

I can revel in those moments of lucid joy when they arise. It has required so much of my

heart - drenched me with a weight that now serves as an anchor, grounding me in the

turbulence of contemporary life.