Tankersley, J. (2019). Reimagining Our Sustainable Future: Gabby in Paradise. Solutions 10(2): 8–9. https://www.thesolutionsjournal.com/article/reimagining-our-sustainable-future-gabby-in-paradise
Envisioning
Reimagining Our Sustainable Future: Gabby in Paradise by Joe Tankersley
The first step toward creating better tomorrows is to change the stories we tell ourselves about what futures are possible. In the case of creating more sustainable futures we need stories that touch both head and heart. These stories can inspire, inform and empower communities to risk the changes necessary to create a world that will be sustainable and abundant. In this excerpt from Reimagining Our Tomorrows, Making Sure Your Future Doesn’t Suck! author Joe Tankersley offers one vision of life in a resilient coastal community.
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abby and Danh were sitting on a bench carved from a giant bodi log that washed onto the beach of their community in a recent hurricane. Like other storm debris, this one had been repurposed by one of the local artisans. Gabby and Danh had taken to hanging out here so much lately that people had dubbed it the kissing bench. Not that anyone had been kissed there, at least not yet! Gabby and Danh looked a little like the old Mutt and Jeff characters. Where he was short and stout, like his Polynesian ancestors, Gabby was tall and willowy, with dark hair and coal black eyes. She stretched her long body out to capture as many of the sun’s early morning rays as possible. “Oh, hey. S’posed to ask if you want to come to Pipo’s birthday party on Friday. It’s his eightieth, so Mom and Tía Maria are fixing all traditional stuff,” Gabby said. “For sure” Danh exclaimed. “I mean if it’s cool with you and all.” 8 | Solutions | April 2019 | www.thesolutionsjournal.org
Gabby tried to respond nonchalantly. “Whatever, it’s nice to have somebody my age around, you know.” They spent the next few minutes sitting in silence, something they often did. At first these pauses felt awkward, but lately Gabby had realized that they were special moments—sharing the natural beauty of this place they were so lucky to call home. Their reverie was interrupted by the arrival of Pipo, Gabby’s grandfather, out for his morning walk. He rarely missed a day and always wore the same outfit—a perfectly pressed guayabera shirt, linen slacks, and his trademark Panama hat. He stopped when he saw them. “Why are you niños not in school?” He demanded. Gabby blushed and tried to explain to him, for the hundredth time, that it was not like the old days when sitting in a classroom was the only place you could learn. Gabby and her friends learned everywhere. When she had finally finished her explanation, Pipo shook his head in bewilderment. “Come walk with me, nieta.” Gabby gave Danh a quick look and got up. “So, see you Friday, here in the park.” “It’s a date,” he replied, hopping off the bench. When he realized what he had said he stammered quickly, “Gotta fly.” With that, he jumped on his hoverboard and zipped off. She watched him disappear. A voice in her head was shrieking: A date? Is that really what he had said? She wasn’t sure if she was confused, excited, or both. She was so distracted, she didn’t even notice that Pipo had continued his walk without her.
She ran to catch up and took his hand as they walked toward the shore. Pipo began to reminisce. “You know, Gabriela, we use to live right here on this very spot. Our home wasn’t fancy, but it had been in our family for seven generations, ever since our people first came here to fish. It was not an easy life. Your family helped to build a tiny fishing village into a thriving community. “Then came the summer of the great storms. Six hurricanes in less than three months. It seemed like we spent all our time getting ready for a storm or cleaning up after one; sometimes doing both at the same time. The last storm, the biggest one of all, hit right here. The entire village washed away. Destruido. Your abuela cried and cried for days.”
In the case of creating more sustainable futures we need stories that touch both head and heart. Over the years, life after the storms had developed into a predictable pattern. First came the clean-up, sometimes taking weeks or months, then the insurance companies and the government would help them rebuild. But this time the insurance companies didn’t come. They said there had been too many storms and they were out of money. The state’s catastrophe fund was empty, and there were no funds available from the federal government. For the first time, the residents didn’t know how they were going to rebuild.