The time I made time to ride a bike

Sometimes, life requires me to wake up early.

Like. Really. Early.

So early that even the car-crazy LA people around me haven't started their morning commute to work. No one is on the road. I can ride around on my bike without fear.

It feels good, once I convince myself to get out of bed.At 5:30am, my neighborhood smells like flowers. It's so quiet that I become conscious of the sound of my breath and heart beat. It's still cold here in the mornings, and it reminds me of autumn on the East Coast.

When I ride closer to the Marina, the air changes to a damp, spicy eucalyptus smell. It reminds me of Australia. Funny how scents just take you back to another time and place.


I like making time for morning bike rides because it puts me back in touch with myself. I think I spend way too many hours staring at a computer screen. The thought of being computerless at work makes me panic-- how would I get anything done? It is tragic that our productivity-- and actually, life in general-- is so deeply dependent on technology. My kids will hate me, but if they're bored, they'll have to read a book, or play an instrument, or learn a sport. No video games. No Facebook. There is something to be said about learning who you are at your core, before plugging into some alternative reality. There is so much to life beyond technology.

I suppose this is what it is to be a 20-something-- still figuring out that life does not equal work, that you're not your job or your instagram. I've never really needed to remind myself of such things, but it's strange to see how easy it is to fall under that illusion. While I certainly care about my current job, it does not define me, and it should not take over my life. Especially since I've got big plans ahead.

The time I remembered why I love narrative

The thing is, I love stories. I love the stories we tell ourselves about who we are. I love watching someone realize that everything they think they know about themselves all spawns from one small moment buried deep in their past.

I can't even tell you how much our high school selves influence our adult selves. The triumphs and pain we felt in our adolescence often can haunt us-- carving out paths for us without our explicit permission. I know this holds true for me, anyway.

People get this incredible look on their faces when they pinpoint the exact moment in their history that determined their path. Sometimes it's a really big doofy smile, and their whole faces light up. Sometimes it's this look of complete shock, and their eyes get really big and solemn, like they're staring off at some distant horizon. Sometimes people start crying. But whatever the initial reaction when recounting this story, it's like watching a major weight being lifted off of their chests. Or a veil from over their eyes. Like suddenly they're seeing themselves as the complex and rich beings they truly are.

It's funny, I was worried that working in the non-profit sector in a field only tangentially related to my own would somehow distract me from my passion for narrative. It seems that it has only strengthened it.

The time I was reminded to look up

I remember when I was in high school, my physics teacher took us on a trip to look at the stars. Well it wasn't a real trip because  we were at a boarding school. But we all went to his house for dinner and then afterwards, walked over to the soccer field and looked up at the sky. He said you can tell a real environmentalist if they were the type of person who always remembered to look up. It reminds us of our place, and how small we really are.

I've always loved the wide horizons of the west, the way  you can see for miles and miles of sky. But light pollution, smog, buildings and especially our daily lives can obstruct the view. We get so wrapped up in things that we forget where we are. We forget to look up. I know I do.

I've been editing a lot of footage lately for a documentary for work. Editing for me is a meditative activity. Sometimes I'll sit for hours observing the same 2 second clip, trying to get it perfect. Recently, that one clip has been of an interview with a 18 year old environmental leader from Inglewood:

The area I grew up in was pretty tough. Lots of gangs, lots of drugs lots of sex. The environment was something that was on nobody's mind. I didn't care. I did all the things an environmentalist isn't supposed to do-- I littered, I didn't recycle. I just didn't care.

But then I got this opportunity to go on a two week expedition to Wyoming. I was miserable. I hated it. And then there was this one night where I was sitting outside. It was midnight, and it was pitch black outside. And I just kept thinking 'I want to go home." But then I looked up and there was a meteor shower. I had never seen anything like it before. And i just sat there watching nature come alive all around me. It was beautiful. And I never wanted to leave that place. That's when I realized this is where I'm supposed to be. This is what I'm supposed to do.

The time I was stuck on the 405 and thought about the future

Los Angeles is a city of extremes. Even after being here for half a year, there are times when I'm still blown away by its duplicity-- the rich hiding away in their mansions, and everyone else below them, struggling to either get there or at least just survive; the striking natural beauty of the mountains and the ocean, brushing up against the cold cement industrialization.

I was stuck in traffic on the 405, on my way to a school in the Valley, when I decided to take a moment and look around out my window. These mountains that look like perfect cardboard cut-outs, stuck to the horizon and looming over the foothills of lush green, all juxtaposed against the immense, sprawling concrete of this place-- they all serve as a constant and beautiful reminder that humans are just a blip on the radar. Someday our structures will all be underwater, or underground. And who knows where we'll be.

I had a conversation with a friend of mine a few days ago about this idea people have of "saving the earth". The truth is-- and I know this sounds odd coming from an environmental activist like myself-- I actually don't think the earth needs saving.

This is what concerns me most about the group I like to call the Leave it Alone Skeptic. They're the ones who almost sound like environmentalists--  They know something's up, they may even admit that humans are causing it. But any action we take as a population is too risky and ultimately pointless because the earth can heal itself.

It seems like we somewhat agree. The primary difference is that I believe that while the earth will continue to adapt, new species will evolve and all the old patterns and species will fade away, and I don't view humans to be above this at all. When I tell students that over the next century we're predicting 20-50% of species to be headed toward extinction, I'm not excluding humans from that statistic. As much as we want to convince ourselves that we are the master manipulators of science, biology and even evolution, the fact remains that we are still animals, dependent on the earth's conditions to remain constant.