A few years ago, I lived near one of the former headquarters of Extinction Rebellion. One morning, I noticed every door on my block had been plastered with a poster inviting residents to a meeting. Out of curiosity, I decided to go.
When I arrived, the room felt very quiet. Most of the people there were much older than me. They had this earnest, almost stubborn optimism about them that I admired, even if I couldn’t quite relate to it. As I sat down, they looked at me expectantly. Being the youngest person in the room, surely I was just as – if not more – invested in the cause as they were. At one point, someone asked me what I thought about the climate crisis, and I could tell they were hoping to hear something insightful.
All I could say was, “What’s the point?”
I wasn’t trying to sound dismissive. I just couldn’t see what any of us could do to fix something so huge. Even thinking about the climate crisis felt hopeless. This pressure has shaped my generation. For us, the climate crisis isn’t some distant worry – it’s our reality. Every heatwave or storm is just another reminder that this isn’t going away.
Long-term plans feel increasingly like a luxury. Can I afford to plan for the future when the world is changing so fast it feels like it’s crumbling? Buying a house, having a family – these things feel less like milestones and more like risks when our climate's stability is in question.
And while we’re told to take responsibility – use less plastic, cycle instead of drive – it’s hard not to feel like those efforts are futile when governments and corporations are still treating the planet like it’s disposable. The pressure to fix everything gets passed down and passed down, yet the systems that allowed this to happen are still in place.
That meeting with Extinction Rebellion is still clear in my mind. I remember how the people there were truly passionate about their cause, and I respect their level of commitment. It's completely understandable why they thought it was an urgent matter. But I can't deny it felt like they were asking me to bear an impossibly heavy load.
The truth is, none of us can do this alone. Solving the climate crisis doesn't mean my generation saving the world – it’s going to take all of us to put the effort in. Older generations have resources, influence, and experience; younger people bring urgency, energy, and new ideas. But the blame and responsibility shouldn’t fall on one group over another. Our generations live alongside each other, and we all have our part to play in doing what we can to take care of our environment.
When I said “what’s the point?” in that meeting, it was because I didn’t want to move forward. Back then, the whole thing felt too big to even try. But now, I think I’ve figured out the point. It’s not about fixing everything overnight or pretending small actions will magically solve the problem. It’s about refusing to give in to that hopelessness.
The crisis might feel like a daunting issue, but maybe it’s what will drive us to fight for something better. No generation has all the answers, but the least we can do is refuse to stop asking the questions.
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