The frigid air lashed across my face, nipping at my exposed ears and nose. The cold engulfed me in its icy embrace and mercilessly clawed at my lungs, leaving me breathless and heaving for each next breath. Fighting all instincts to curl up into a ball on the icy stepping stones beneath me, I hastily shoved my hands into my pockets and clumsily hopped around in a circle, willing any ounce of blood to reach my extremities.
All I was trying to do was brush my teeth!
This had become a nightly routine for my friends and me staying at the off-the-grid wolf sanctuary MISSION:WOLF in Westcliffe, Colorado this past spring break. Leaving the comfort of sun-drenched afternoons in Houston behind for eight days at 9,500 feet above sea level on a mountain blanketed in snow, every feature of my new reality shone with novelty, from the range of snow-capped peaks that stretched as far as I could see to the ring of logs wrapped the fireplace perfect for eating dinner by the warmth of the flames.
Despite the biting cold and seemingly insurmountable task of dragging myself up countless flights of stairs every night, only equipped with a tiny flashlight and flimsy bag of toiletries, the view at the top made my Olympic feat worth it a thousand times over.
The night sky was ablaze with stars covering every inch of the dark expanse overhead. The speckles of light splashed across the night sky lit up our little mountain refuge with a hazy glow; if I focused real hard, I could see the dusty glow of the Milky Way band stretch across the darkness ahead. Like many of you and generations of our kind before us, the immorality, grandeur, and timeless beauty of a star-studded sky never fails to bewitch me. At that moment, the overwhelming sense of being part of something greater — a union of all beings on Earth, a mutual understanding that transcends time, region, personal beliefs, and even identity — flooded my senses, as some confirmation of sorts that my existence right now matters, no matter how small I am on this blip in the universe’s timeline.
This surge of emotion was quickly accompanied by an equally strong swell of emotion: the insignificance of it all. This startling realization — that nothing matters as much as we think it does — is not necessarily a negative one. It comes with its flavor of nuances: I see it as a reminder to give ourselves grace, as we are all experiencing life for the very first time (credit to Tess for this realization!) and to let go of trivial worries of “who thinks what of me”, etc. that taint our waking days; our lives are composed of what we each choose to make matter as uniquely irreplaceable individual beings.
Now fast forward to the dimly lit backseat of a taxicab on a relatively cool Delhi evening (we’re still talking 95ºF here). The steady pace of the car lulls me into a mediative trance, with the sporadic blare of a car horn piercing my thoughts as I stare out to the bare night sky. The moon is but a razor-thin gold sliver with the outline of a sphere barely visible against the backdrop of towering cranes and the blinking lights of the port. On this starless night, thousands of miles away from the refuge of home, a thought lingers for a moment too long: will this work of mine matter in the end?
Allow me to share some context. As someone driven to help reform our global food systems to be more sustainable and socially equitable, my research with the S M Sehgal Foundation as a Borlaug-Ruan Intern has been incredibly meaningful for me. My project focuses on researching and proposing agricultural interventions to alleviate malnutrition in women and children in India’s rural villages. This past week, I wrapped up a concept report on the linkages between agriculture and nutrition and the questionnaire my mentor and I will use during our visits to the villages, among other undertakings. To be able to directly apply concepts I fervently read about and discussed in my Poverty, Justice, and Human Capabilities seminar at Rice (such as women’s opportunity cost of time and human capability building) in my research and reports has felt empowering and thrilling, knowing that the Sehgal Foundation’s work will touch the lives of many.
Yet, I’m often dumbfounded by the sheer vastness and complexity of the issues that cause these gross inequities between genders, regions, classes, and other social groups in the first place. I read lengthy reports about rapidly deteriorating ecosystems and living conditions across the globe amidst record-high temperatures and CO2 emissions. We’re rapidly coming face-to-face with the harsh truth that without decisive, global action, we remain on track to reach 4ºC/39.2ºF warming within this century. Another disheartening truth: worldwide, we produce more than enough food to feed the entire planet, yet we waste 40% of the food produced, and in 2022, 2.4 billion people were moderately or severely food insecure.
In light of these figures, I can’t help but feel… very, very small. I’m struck with the same feeling of smallness I get when staring up at the stars, but with an added touch of doubt and helplessness. I question whether all of our global climate efforts will amount to something meaningful over our lifetime.
I wish I had some life-shattering revelation to share with you all after dropping some wildly uncomfortable truths about the state of our world today that likely aren’t a surprise to most of you. While I’m just trying to figure this all out alongside everyone else, what I can offer you is this:
We are faced with a choice. On one hand, we can choose to haphazardly go through life clinging on to the concept that we’re an infinitesimally small part of our ever-expanding universe, therefore nothing “really” matters, and so what’s the point of trying?
Or, we can choose to believe that our existence, this work, our efforts, do matter. With the effects of climate change already ravaging every part of our planet to different degrees, we have no choice but to keep pushing forward and throw ourselves into this work for any amount of progress, both for the people facing the brunt of this global calamity today and for everyone who will have to live in this stark new reality tomorrow. In moments when I’m plagued with uncertainty, I come back to the people in my life who I’ve been lucky enough to connect with in any capacity, be it an old friend from preschool, my high school teacher, a stranger in the bookstore, or my Mom and Dad. I come home to the small yet soul-filling moments of connection and discovery I’ve gotten to share by myself and with people from all walks of life. I return to the stories that are shared with people working in the issue space of climate change and food security, from recollections of the love spread through a community of change-makers to the trust and connections they get to build with people at the frontlines of this climate crisis, even when it could be easier to turn a blind eye to the injustices all around us.
It is the act of living for and with each other, and for ourselves, that grounds me in the truth that what we’re doing does matter. Working at the Sehgal Foundation here in India has helped me better internalize and solidify this truth into my core in the face of healthy doses of doubt. I see the humanity of their development programs, aimed to empower the villagers to use their agency and capabilities to address issues from water management to agriculture in their community, instead of marching in with orders and lofty promises that undermine the autonomy and dignity of the villagers. I hear recollections of a beautiful dance performance put on by girls in a village in Bangalore as a heartfelt show of gratitude for the Foundation’s partnership in helping them restore the only high school in their community. I share my quiet hopes and loud ambitions to do as much good in this world as I can with the other interns and my mentors here. I’m grateful and humbled to learn from those around me and those who came before me; they all are embodiments of our collective action and desires to do the most good we can, while we can.
While I can’t see any stars from my flatlet window in Gurugram or the backseat of a taxicab in New Delhi, I’ll crane my head to the sky above, looking for a glint of light in the vast expanse of darkness that drapes over the city. Lately, though, I’m trying to look towards the dim street lamp that illuminates an unmanned street food cart outside the building and the hint light that peeks out from the cafeteria door after everyone has cleared out to remind me of the surge of emotion and raw essence that I felt that night under the sky in Colorado. Whenever I feel the raw ache of homesickness, the morning light that streams through my phone from video calls with family and friends (time differences still confuse me) nudges me to remember that connection is all around me, when I look for it. These moments remind us that when we look for the light, we can choose to see the unembellished yet profound significance and meaning of the moment in front of us — of having a chance at this life and striving to leave our homes better places than we found them.
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