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It is my six month anniversary of living in Australia. Mostly, I can't believe that. But when I think about all the things that have happened in that time period it checks out. Australia is home now. The novelty has worn off and I think that I might now find hearing American accents (yes, we do have accents!) or driving on the right side of the road disorienting. The absolutely bonkers song of the kookaburra no longer sends me into a fit of giggles or startles me awake in the mornings. But though the novelty has worn off and life has become moulded into a new version of normal, the appreciation for my new home has not. In fact, I may love it even more here now. Once the big differences (Medicare for all! Safety! Sanity!) became simple reality, I was able to take note of the more subtle distinctions between life here and life in the US. The fact that I no longer feel anxiety when making a once dreaded phone call to get service or resolve an issue because I'm treated respectfully and help is actually given. The fact that I trust people and businesses not to lie or to rip me off. The fact that I can expect people to be friendly and jovial even in passing and no longer need to do a quick assessment of their likely politics in order to determine my next steps. In short, I have found my paradise on Earth. But... and this is a big but... I am indeed still on Earth. And despite the many significant improvements to my life and well being, improvements that have given me reason to keep going, the fact remains that we are, all of us, facing collapse.

I know. Not what you want to hear.

I am reading a remarkable book right now; I Eat the Stars by Sarah Wilson. Sarah is an Australian writer and the book won't be out in the States for a few more weeks but I can't wait to talk about it. It's interesting to note I think, that while the US is the country that is living (and dying) through this collapse most rapidly and with the widest reaching global impact, this writer and this book came from here. Perhaps a little distance is what is needed to see things clearly. Or perhaps it's because those of us who aren't in the epicenter (see how I included myself there!?) feel the impact still and can talk about it in ways that aren't quite as influenced by the dissonance of what looks in many ways like the same street, city and country, the same life we have always known.

I'm safe here. My younger child who is here with me is safe here. We may be hit by higher gas prices but we won't be hit by bullets or by the merciless and unjust laws of a very sick man and a very corrupt system. So the short term provides respite, relief for us. It opens space for our internal resources to return and for joy to sometimes find us. But what about the long term? That is the inescapable problem. Because while I have the time and energy here to volunteer to save an injured animal or maybe clean up a beach, I cannot save the country I was born in or the country I reside in now or our larger home; Earth. It's too late for that you guys. We all needed to act when we were told that time was running out and we didn't. Now the best we can do is try to slow it down but even that sadly, we are not doing.

I have no interest in denying this reality and living around those who seemed to be doing so was honestly making me feel a little crazy. But I would like to work with it. As Sarah talks about in her book, civilizations can and do collapse. The Roman Empire is only one of many but what happened with all of them is that they got too complex, the technology and the progress and advancements went unchecked and were greedily consumed. Systems became harder to manage, things started to deteriorate, people turned against one another. The wealthy hoarded food, medicine, land and the poor went hungry, became houseless and grew sick. The population declined. Oh my God. Will we ever learn? But the biggest issue as I see it now and what makes this different than the fall of the Roman Empire is that today the whole world is connected. So if one major world power such as the US collapses and if that world power controls much of the natural resources on the planet well, we all go down with it. Talk about an existential crisis.

The thing that breaks my heart in all of this possibly the most is that most people aren't bad. We are however, naive and short sighted. We are also avoidant and complacent. We've all seen the videos of someone getting attacked while those who witness it do nothing, collectively all assuming that someone else will. I get that part of that is based on socialization by those who want to stay in power. What more effective tool of complacency was there ever than social media? TV might have once had its heyday as a wildly successful form of distraction and even propaganda but social media is another monster entirely; accessible at all times and personally tailored for each individual. I am in no means by the way saying that it doesn't have its benefits because it surely does. We wouldn't use it if it didn't. But boy has it made us passive.

So here I am now. I'm on a lifeboat but the future seems to only be leading in one direction. I couldn't find peace in the US. I can make peace here. And while I may not embrace the recognition that in the long term nowhere is safe, I can reconcile my own capacity to cope with that awareness now. In may ways I now how the freedom to do whatever the hell makes me and my family happy as long as its not making things worse. And by the way, there are A LOT of things mostly invisible to us that make things worse so this is no little thing and one I can absolutely do better with. There's a fine line here between the kind of "self care" that is marketed to us which is actually consumable and ultimately selfish and things that truly make us resourced while remaining responsible for the greater good. The overuse of fuel to drive or fly or get delivery, buying things ensconced in plastic and packaging to name just a few. Using AI. Jesus don't get me started on AI. But if you know me you know I likely won't be able to do the comparatively small things that for long until my need to try more, try harder, do something else... something I surely just haven't thought of yet, will prompt more action.

I'd really like this planet to be around longer. It's so beautiful. It's incredibly, magically diverse and brilliant and precious and there is so much we don't even know about that exists on and in it. There are so many plants and animals here that don't get to influence the outcome like we humans do. I want all the children to live in and love it. I want them to see it with wide open eyes and curiosity and wonder and I want them to marvel and to shake with excitement and with fear and with surprise and with grief about how temporary so much of it is. But above all, I want them to believe it will still exist and not end because of the choices made by those who lost their interest in anything but their own short time here. Those who took so much more than their fair share.

I don't know that it or we will be around much longer. Something in us is just unable to comprehend that in a way that would have caused us to do something about it. I guess it's not that different than the couples I see in my office. One partner begs for change for years and it falls on deaf ears. Then they announce that they are done and suddenly their partner snaps to attention; scrambling to salvage the relationship and committed to improve when it's already too late. There is no going back. In these cases, one if not both people learn something. They start again and this time, at least hopefully, they do better. Maybe that will happen here too. There is no saving this. But maybe once we see a little more clearly we will be more motivated to act and create something good with the time we have left and what remains in the new landscape.

Six months into a new life. Six months of recovery to let some of the layers and scales and armor to shed. Six months to be gifted extraordinary beauty at my door every single day. Six months of letting the sound of the birds do the work that no journal or yoga practice or therapy could. Six months to start trusting people again. Six months of invitations to talk and to play and to create and to move in a place that values those things deeply and consider them necessities, not the luxuries of the elite or the frivolous.

It feels like a turning point or maybe a first step. I've gotten what I needed for myself to find my way back home to a place I didn't come from. I've stopped resisting or fighting with reality. Now it's time I think to do something with that. Maybe the same things but with a different perspective. Maybe some different things now that I know I need to be a little more honest about what's likely to make any difference at all. Instead of raging at the unfairness, the wrongness of all of it, maybe I can put that energy to better use. No promises because I might still get really fucking angry sometimes. Hey, grief is a nonlinear thing.

It's also the thing that make us prioritize what really matters.