Coming of Age in the Anthropocene By Lucy Wormald (she/her) It is winter here in Auckland. My room is frosty in the mornings. Rain comes down in droves. You can wear T-shirts some days, on others I need a hot water bottle under my jersey. The light glares through overcast sky. Winds blow through, rustling the bones of the tōtara and the bare horse chestnut. The balance of things feels normal, familiar; sheltered. No red skies, no disquieting heat, no tremors beneath my feet acting as harbinger. But in my news feed, or more pertinently, in the Northern Hemisphere, a different story is unfolding. Siberia, usually home to the coldest winters outside of Antarctica, hits temperatures of 37 degrees Celsius and is ablaze with wildfire. Two weeks ago, more than 17 centimeters of rain fell over western Germany in the space of two days – double the expected rainfall for the whole of July. Rivers burst their banks and swept away entire villages. Over 180 people died and hundreds are missing.
26
This space is a difficult one to exist in. It is liminal, carved out by an understanding of the climate crisis but one not yet affected by it. In Madagascar the worst drought in 40 years is pushing 400,000 people into famine. In June, a mountain village in British Colombia briefly became the hottest place on earth hitting 49.6 degrees Celsius before bursting into a wildfire that destroyed 90% of its buildings. New York and London, untouchable in our tight sense of civilisation and climate change, saw subway systems surged by several inches of rain, forcing commuters to wade through waist-deep water. And these are just the opening chapters of the 2021 summer. I, as many of you, have come of age in the waiting room of climate change devastation. I have grown in the gentle heat of the Anthropocene, basting in the
slow knowledge and vague concern that our planet, and by extension, humanity, is going to suffer greatly due to global warming. I have grown up taught, in high school and university, and now by the media (a belated and sheepish education), of the climate crisis we have spawned. We understand the future is bleak with climate break-down and extinction, candle-lit only by the hope of conservation and technology. We have also been taught this crisis is impending – a shadow in the doorway, a dark swell on the horizon, a prophecy. This space is a difficult one to exist in. It is liminal, carved out by an understanding of the climate crisis but one not yet affected by it. It is anxious and unchartered, full of unknowing. But also fertile with possibility.
