I’ll be 24 next week. And in ten years, I’ll probably be buying my first house. I might be celebrating a wedding anniversary that’s not even in the double-digits yet. I may be ready to have a child, or I may already have one or two. I should not be thinking of en years as a period at the end of a sentence. It should be an ellipse… a bridge to a continued narrative of my life.
And yet, in the wake of the climate report, ten years has come to mean something entirely different. In the context of climate change, ten years means a point of no return. Hence, my crippling fear.