I recently read that I’ve slowed my work. Accepting my own message, according to this social-media maven, I’ve glided into retirement. Apparently by averaging a post in this space only every day-and-a-half, my perennial vacation has begun. The more I think about it, the better I like this idea.
So, I’ve had a minor change of mind. It’s led to a slight change of plans.
I love to teach, including the delivery of presentations. I love the people in my life, and I love spending time with them. I love making a positive difference in the lives of caring people. I’ll be increasing the amount of time I spend on these activities, notably locally.
I do not love feeding trolls. I do not love reading lies about me. I do not love the libel and slander to which I am subjected daily. I do not love spending my time on activities that produce animus. I’ll be reducing the amount of time I spend on these activities, including promulgating evidence via frequent essays.
I often hear and read that my work as a reporter on the topics of abrupt climate change and the Sixth Mass Extinction is terribly wrong. I’m commonly viewed as the source of these phenomena, as well as the cause of human extinction. You might recognize this response as the kill-the-messenger story.
To clarify, again: I’m a fan of neither the Sixth Mass Extinction nor near-term human extinction. I’m enamored with evidence, and I’m neither ignorant nor stupid.
I’ve tolerated abundant betrayal. I’ve experienced personal attacks too numerous to list. I respond with evidence. Not surprisingly, in a culture dominated by the worship of celebrities rather than appreciation of evidence, confusion results.
Because I am knowledgeable about conservation biology, I strongly suspect I have fewer than 18 months to live as a result of the consequences resulting from prior warming of Earth and a near-term ice-free Arctic Ocean. It may well be less than 4 months, rather than 18 months. Or perhaps I have a few more years (though this seems highly improbable). Regardless, my time is very limited. So is yours.
Our near-term demise brings good news, of which I was reminded again last week when I was robbed of all my cash. The loss of nearly all the money in my possession after selling the mud hut reminds me that (1) some people are here to take and, more importantly, (2) the importance of fiat currency pales when faced with an irreversible, short-term condition. Economic collapse is fully under way and its completion will cause the worldwide loss of habitat for humans as a result.
As a result of my recent, admittedly too-late pondering, I’ve decided to free myself from some activities. No more releasing online, recorded conversations with audiences that are predictably small and stunningly hateful. No more manifestos beyond the thousands of words I’ve already penned and made freely available. I’ll greatly reduce my focus on accumulating, organizing, and synthesizing evidence about abrupt climate change. And so on. When I do write, I’ll continue to focus on social criticism.
After all, those claiming to be rationalists who don’t believe the evidence underlying near-term human extinction are irrational and deluded. Those believing human extinction will occur soon, but not in their lifetimes — that is, those afflicted with the “it’s a problem for the children” syndrome — are ignorant, irrational, deluded, and entitled. I need exactly none of these kinds of people in my presence during the final days of my abbreviated life.
I’ll continue to write essays, albeit rarely, as the mood strikes. I’ll pen a monthly article for Weekly Hubris as long as my radical missives are welcome there. I’ll continue to release Edge of Extinction video clips, as I’m inspired. I’ll continue to deliver presentations upon request in exchange for travel expenses. I’ll continue to offer the Only Love Remains workshop every few months, until circumstances preclude long-distance travel. I’ll continue to submit to interviews with people who seem relatively sane. I’ll continue to host visitors at Homestead 2.0 in Belize. Not one of these activities is economically profitable. At least for me, there’s no money in extinction.
I’ll continue to decline opportunities to debate belief systems. Believers in a flat Earth, deniers of gravity, followers of god(s), promoters of political parties, and evangelical vegans take note. If you’re a member of any of these groups, please do not offer to host me in your home. I’d rather sleep in a culvert than listen to nonsensical babbling from irrational people.
I’ll no longer serve as guide and counselor for those who, even with abundant assistance, can’t find their way. These lost balls in tall weeds, busily chasing dollars and status, will never have enough because — afflicted with a serious case of the dominant paradigm — more is all they know. They’ll never find joy in their shallow pursuits. There is no joy in superficiality.
In other words, I’ll scale back in offering my evidence-rich work, for no pay. I’ll continue to expect animus in return for my work, when I post essays or video. May the bridges I burn light your way. After all, to share another metaphor, the storms I’ve endured have not only disrupted my journey, they have also cleared my path.
Because nobody reading these words has the slightest idea what I’ve been through, a rational response would include suspending judgment about me. I anticipate few rational responses. Empathy is rare in a culture that rewards sociopathy.
I’ll reduce the time I spend responding to questions I’ve already answered. Some of the 200-300 email messages I receive each day will be ignored. Some of the more astute among you might have noticed already.
I will no longer pander to an audience largely lacking the ability to understand the English language. Confusing certainty with probability, such as with the clear and simple language I used in this recent video, means you are among the halfwits to which I refer. I’ve played Jackass Whisperer far too long already.
I’ll flee meaningless, mindless chitchat. I appreciate, nay revel in, substantive discussions. If you’re one of the many people I don’t know who feels obligated to ask me how my day is going, please don’t anticipate a response.
I’ll greatly reduce the amount of time I spend discussing “solutions” for the insoluble predicament known as abrupt, irreversible climate change. I’m tired of providing intellectual and emotional support for loony ideas, even if they are promoted by inspired, idealistic, intelligent individuals.
Lest the careless reader incorrectly believe I’m complaining about my personal circumstances, I am compelled to again point out the joy I’ve discovered, late in an examined life. My happiness is an emotional response to the supreme joy of finding my tribe, as well as my life’s purpose. There’s little doubt my deep and frequent thoughts of dying also contribute to my happiness.
In summary, I’ll be acting a lot like the uncompensated retiree I am in my few remaining weeks. For example, I’ll be spending proportionally more time in the pool than I have in the past. I’ll be spending a lot more time dancing on the edge of extinction. You’ll accept this change in my behavior as a big deal when you realize that most people change approximately as frequently as England gets a new queen. In contrast to most people, I’ve made life-altering changes many times during the last decade.
I’ll be making some memories and documenting them on Instagram. Folks interested in my personal response to my professional work can follow those adventures here.
In further pursuit of happiness during my final days, I’m changing priorities, starting today. I’m living my message, starting now. Please join me, even if you cannot support me.
Thanks to my all-volunteer booking team for seeking additional volunteers in support of my speaking tours. If you would like to host me in your area, please send me a message at email@example.com
My latest book is available in audio, and can be purchased here. Ms. Ladybug and Mr. Honeybee: A Love Story at the End of Time is intended for ages 11 and up.
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