choosing abstemiousness

Here I am, back in Copenhagen once again. I seem fated to shuttle back and forth between France and Denmark, always searching for that part of myself that is where I am not. Like many of my generation and background, I built my adult life between two countries. Two countries that I love and are both part and parcel of who I am, of my story. I am a European in the age of modernity. Yet, it wasn’t that easy at first. I was determined from early on to live as a European and to experience Europe as a single territory. But I was ahead of my time, the continent’s political and regulatory integration were still around the corner in Brussels. Over the years, this process was eventually completed and my life as European became effortless. It is now easy for me to straddle the northern and southern parts of our beautiful union and reap the civilizational and cultural benefits of my dual citizenship.

When I first came to Paris, in 1984, taking the plane was a luxury. The journey between Copenhagen and Paris was a major undertaking in those days. Now, flying is as accessible to me as getting around on the underground. I can hop over to Copenhagen for a weekend away, a family celebration, or even just for a daytime meeting. The journey is easy, seamless and familiar. For twenty years, this modern and carefree lifestyle was mine, and I was as happy flying as on solid ground during that period.

For twenty years, this modern and carefree lifestyle was mine.

Then, one day, I took stock of my carbon footprint. I saw the cloud of CO2 I was dragging behind me like a shadow, and no longer felt so carefree. Feelings of guilt wormed their way inside me and today I can no longer help to perpetuate such an unsustainable lifestyle. I did initially try to tell myself that my personal carbon footprint was insignificant on a global scale. I also attempted to hide behind the knowledge that Americans generate much more CO2 than Europeans: why should I change if they did not? I even tried to convince myself that after so many years of hard work, I deserved to treat myself. To travel and discover the world for pleasure, not work as on all those exhausting business trips. Indeed, there were times when I was conceited enough to believe that, as an activist, I could travel to help change the world. If I flew to speak at a conference, would this not give me a greater opportunity to persuade others to join the green transition? Would the impact of such business trips not offset the carbon footprint they would immediately generate? All these stalling attempts were merely defence mechanisms, the result of my mind’s ability to argue against changing my habits and behaviours. And the arguments just kept coming, fast and furious.

I can no longer help to perpetuate such an unsustainable lifestyle.

This internal debate went on something like this: why give up plane travel, if flying only represents 4% of our global CO2 emissions today? Does our Prime Minister not take the plane just to get to the town of Rennes from Paris? And does our President himself not play down the impact of flying on our collective capacity to meet the objectives of the Paris Agreement? And yet, aren’t our decision-makers supposed to lead by example? Today, the works on the express train line between the centre of Paris and the Roissy Charles de Gaulle airport are almost done. When Paris welcomes the 2024 Olympic Games, it will be even easier than ever for Parisians like me to jet off to Copenhagen for a weekend away, family get-together or meeting. And Airbus orders are on backlog. But not to worry: sooner or later, it will be possible to wean planes off carbon and power them with hydrogen, solar panels or biomass energy. Who knows, we might even fuel planes with beet juice one day? The march of progress is unstoppable, as they say. No need to go back to burning oil lamps, then, as our same President tells us. So why question my comfortable lifestyle or the trappings of modernity? Why be an activist?

Why give up plane travel, if flying only represents 4% of our global CO2 emissions today?

Deep down, I know that these are not the right questions to ask. I have to look at the problem the other way around. The real question is how could I possibly carry on enjoying the carefree lifestyle that modernity makes possible? When I try to stifle my activism, a voice rises within me, unpleasantly discordant. Its tuneless jangle is the sound of cognitive dissonance. We are all aware, however confusedly, of the scientific facts. We know that something is happening. That, to quote Barack Obama at the 2015 COP21, we are the last generation that can do something to preserve the conditions for life on earth. That it is up to us to minimise the damage from climate change and biodiversity erosion. This is why I am acutely aware of the consequences of my choices today. And of the impact of my lifestyle on future generations. I cannot delete this knowledge from my brain and carry on as though life could go on as usual. I cannot go back to the innocence of my old ways, when I enjoyed the trappings of modernity without a care in the world.

The impact of my lifestyle on future generations.

Flying also raises issues of social justice. Airplanes are an obvious and glaring symbol of inequality today. How can it be acceptable for a small minority to travel on private jets or fly across the world with such astonishing frequency? How can the outsize carbon footprint of the flying industry be acceptable when the majority of the world population have never set foot on a plane? How not to be outraged by the airplanes we can see in the sky above our heads when they are visible examples of injustice? How not to be appalled by the knowledge that those who will never fly are the first to be impacted by climate change? Millions of people in the Global South can no longer live off their land because of droughts, rising temperatures and extreme weather events. In order to survive, they become migrants and leave their ancestral lands and family ties behind. And every day, more and more of these millions of climate migrants drown in the Mediterranean Sea, because we have closed the doors to Europe.

Gradually, I come to an overwhelming realisation: my carbon shadow casts a cloud over the history we are all weaving together. I need to stop flying. I allow these facts to sink in. Then comes a period of reflection. There must be a way forward. I know there must. My values slowly begin to shift. I try to identify which behaviours might be part of the solution, not the problem. I scour everything, from my smallest habits to my professional mission, until one by one, the solutions come to me. I take a more abstemious path and gradually discover that I am walking towards the light. Every day my path gets a little wider as I become kinder to myself and others.

My carbon shadow casts a cloud over the history we are all weaving together. I need to stop flying.

But how can I accommodate the demands of my dual European identity with this need for abstemiousness? How can I avoid giving up on my French or Danish self? I love France and my life in Paris. I found fulfilment in exile and feel enriched by my thirty plus years in France. Yet, life as an expat has a price. I have never managed to achieve a clear or absolute sense of belonging. There is a part of me that is always elsewhere and I cannot tear it out of myself. It is the product of a different culture with different values, and its history is part of who I am. Integration only goes so far. I shall always be a foreigner in France, however much I strive to assimilate.

When I reach Copenhagen, I can feel my eyes relax. Everything is different here – the colours, the sounds, even the air. The sky over here is a palette of pastel hues and these soft shades speak to something deep within me. I have known this landscape since I was born and the breeze against my skin feels like a caress. I have a very profound sense of being physically and sensorially at one with the world around me. It’s a subtle but powerful feeling. This is not something I can give up, I don’t think.

And so I set to juggling my conflicting priorities. The wilderness of modernity remains unchanged around me but I eventually find my way to a patch of light. I can take the train! But while the railway is one of our blessings in Europe, rail travel between France and Denmark takes me back to the days of my youth before European integration. It is a struggle to book the three trains it takes to get from Paris to Copenhagen. The tickets are expensive too, because state subsidies invariably go to air, not rail, travel. And it takes me fourteen hours to reach my destination. If all goes well, that is: the journey can in fact run to eighteen hours when, as often happens, there isn’t enough time for train changes. But travel is like life. I learn patience and equanimity. I count my lucky stars to be able to reach my two beloved countries by train. And discover that, away from the rush of modernity, life is the journey, not the destination. Trains are comfortable and I always get there, eventually.

I can take the train!

My inner voice is no longer so discordant. I get new bearings and settle into my new identity. To choose something is to give up something else. I am laying the groundwork for a more abstemious life. For other riches. It feels like discovering new values. A new lifestyle beckons, one that we all rehearsed during the COVID-19 lockdowns. I take life one day at a time and focus on trying to make the right choices at every turn.

It feels like discovering new values.

Yet, I know that I cannot give up on flying altogether. Leave modernity behind for good, renounce all plane travel and lead a wholly abstemious life. A few months ago, I travelled by air for a family emergency. I truly felt I had no other choice. The planet paid a price for the miscalculation that made me run short of time. This realisation taught me to become less radical and more measured. To cultivate tolerance, and recognize that that we can only tackle the seismic shift in values and behaviours required of us if we all come together each at our own pace.

Will I ever take the plane again? I do not wish to work myself in a corner or be blinded by radical positions. I am not here to lecture anyone. I am just trying to learn to be more abstemious. And I welcome this more measured form of existence. I now know that giving up on something merely means looking at everyday life choices in a new light. Slowing down to ponder my every decision. And waking up to my power to act and ability to make a difference. For I only exercise true sovereignty when no one is looking at me.