In the heart of Portland, Oregon, our apartment’s fire alarms blared due to smoke from nearby wildfires. In that moment, I realized that I could marry my then-boyfriend. He packed a bag, preparing for the worst-case scenario of having to evacuate. With wildfires becoming more severe due to global warming and drought, over 10% of Oregonians had already been displaced or were at risk of evacuation. His preparedness made me feel safe.
It was 2020, and I experienced the unique juxtaposition of falling in love while living in constant fear and uncertainty. The pandemic confined our social lives and climate change threatened our physical environment. Amidst these challenges, we only had each other, offering a sense of stability. I found solace in the belief that once things improved externally, our relationship would grow stronger as well.
However, the disasters continued. Summer after summer, smoke and heat plagued us. In those moments when global warming seemed momentarily silent, the weight of its presence persisted. Isolated in our basement apartment, I yearned for meaningful conversations about philosophy and logistics. I questioned the feasibility of owning a home in such an unstable location. It wasn’t just the looming threat of a catastrophic earthquake, but also the replacement of pleasant summers with days filled with smoke and extreme heat. How could the city support its vulnerable citizens through better infrastructure? How could we contribute to those efforts?
Although my partner supported my concerns, he didn’t share my same level of focus. When I brought up global warming, he often tried to comfort me by offering a hug, suggesting we watch an episode of “Seinfeld,” or giving me a CBD gummy. It was difficult for me to explain to him that I didn’t need remedies or explanations; I simply desired a relationship where we could explore these questions together. In her memoir, “Lost and Found,” Kathryn Schulz reflects on falling in love with her now-wife and concludes that caring about the same questions matters more than agreeing on the answers.
Soon enough, our conversations shifted from distant future plans to our mundane weekend aspirations. As life outside of quarantine resumed, we found ourselves on different paths. Eventually, we broke up as it became easier to avoid discussing our emotions altogether.
My mother used to say that successful relationships stem from the partners looking in the same direction, not just enjoying holding hands. When my middle-class, white American parents married, they envisioned a future of stability, including homeownership, healthcare, and retirement funds. If relationships rely on a shared vision of the future, then global warming not only disturbs our environment but also leaves our interpersonal relationships uncertain.
In the past year, I have ventured into the world of dating once again. This time, I’m shedding my fear of sounding overly anxious and addressing climate change early on in conversations. After all, it is difficult to fall in love with someone if we aren’t also falling in love with the future we wish to create together.
Approaching these discussions without an agenda or quiz format, I have discovered that talking about how global warming affects our lives serves as a litmus test to understand a person’s broader beliefs and behaviors. It reveals whether they perceive the world in black and white, how they view their role in their community, and their level of engagement with science and systemic inequalities.
I immediately knew I wouldn’t connect with the man who texted me, “Life is better if you’re cheerful. I don’t read the news :)”, nor did I desire a partner whose main concern was building a walled compound full of canned goods in Idaho. Another man expressed that he sought a partner to visit sinking places like Venice, which left me speechless because I wasn’t that person. As someone who embraces nuances, I was put off by someone who asserted that only “dumb” people continued to have children. While I don’t claim to possess the ultimate perspective, I do know from my previous relationship that I’m tired of pretending to be nonchalant. I can’t care any less than I do.
Recent years have provided more material for these discussions, expanding our imagination of how swiftly lives can change. The combination of Covid-19 and climate disasters has delivered a collective experience of loss. Although the impacts are disproportionately felt by marginalized communities, no one remains untouched. Every first date I’ve been on inevitably involves a conversation about the pandemic, as we all have personal stories of navigating through it.
While discussing climate change within the first few dates may not be the norm yet, it has become the top concern for OkCupid users in 2022. Over the past five years, there has been a 368% increase in environmental and climate-change-related terms appearing in profiles. Recognizing the growing interest in climate issues among young users, Tinder launched a campaign featuring an illustration of two people holding hands in front of a giant monster made of trash, emphasizing the desire to save the planet together.
These daters aren’t solely seeking partners who believe in global warming; they desire individuals willing to confront it and engage in the challenging task of reimagining their lives. It’s not merely a matter of deciding when or whether to have children. Since global warming and pandemics often go hand in hand, acknowledging the progression of one increases the likelihood of the other. Thus, new long-term relationships must consider extended periods of isolation and spontaneous decisions to hit the road.
Though discussing the future with a partner or potential partner may seem intimidating, lack of communication leads to projection. Don’t we owe ourselves the intimacy that comes with something more? I now realize that my struggle with my previous partner extended beyond conversations about our planet’s future; it also pertained to discussions about our personal future. It’s easy to believe that the question of having children, like rising sea levels, can be addressed later on.
Yet the future, much like the sea, doesn’t conform to our expectations. If living in the present often feels like standing on a cliff, I want to be with someone who isn’t afraid to gaze at the tumultuous tides. Not because we need to solve everything, but because I don’t want a relationship built on avoiding difficult conversations.
A friend recently confided in me, saying, “I feel safer when I’m in love.” During times of profound uncertainty, romantic relationships serve as more than distractions; they provide us with the strength to confront the challenges beyond our doorstep.
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