I’ve been reflecting on this part of my life story.

I’ve always wanted to be an activist but never felt I was. I have never been to a rally or protest (not being overly fond of crowds). I have never chained myself to a tree or lain down in front of a bulldozer like Arthur Dent. I can lack motivation, be in a black dog mood and unable to get myself out of the door, be scared of meeting people, and, every now and again, lose hope.

But if I look back I can see a thread that runs from my teens to today. It started in church, as a lot of my story does, up until my late thirties church was the framework that I stretched my life’s tent over. World Vision used to do a twenty-four hour fast event to raise funds for children living without enough food. I also joined my friend Zoe on an anti-apartheid sponsored walk, and when I learned about Climate Change in 1988 I joined a few environmental charities and started amending my lifestyle.

Then in my early twenties I spent a few years campaigning against Nestle with Baby Milk Action. I also joined our local Green Party and campaigned for them.

At twenty-three I became a mother for the first time and (as it turned out) that would be an all-consuming thing for many years. I also trained and worked as a teacher, and a lay minister. Any social action would have been through the church but in all honesty I got a bit lost in the machine of the Church of England and my activist self went underground.

Flash forward to my early forties and the demands of parenting and caring for older parents was, in some ways at least, less loud. I began a few citizen science actions, like counting bees monthly for the BBCT, as well as litter picking in the local area. I set up a Neighbourhood Watch group, to try and build some local connections in the streets where I live and support people facing social isolation, and I am setting up a screening of the crucial National Emergency Briefing. Knowing how we live in a biodiversity crisis, I “rewilded” our tiny garden, seeking to create a space where bees, butterflies and birds can shelter and feed These are small actions, but manageable with a chronic illness and variable moods. So whoop de doo and that’s enough of that virtue signalling I hear you cry.

So far, so safe.

Two days ago a small voice started in the back of my mind, “this could be the time!” It was wearing patched jeans, and a headscarf and looked a bit like Barbara Good in the seventies show The Good Life..

I am not blessed with blinding self-confidence, so to step up and say “this is what I am doing now”, is scary, and also feels like over-egging the pudding. I guess part of me would rather stick my head under the duvet and get lost in a novel or natural history book. Especially if there’s also tea and chocolate.

Here’s the rub. I believe we only have one life.

I believe it is our job to help all other beings on this planet and to share the space we live in with those beings responsibly.

I don’t have anything to hide behind anymore, no kids to raise, no parent to nurse, no professional responsibilities.

This path will need a reflective mindset, yes, and the need to continually screw my courage to the sticking place, get out of my head, out of my front door, and do what I can.

We can’t all be on the frontlines, outside parliament, on the streets, or in police cells having our civil liberties eroded, but, all of us, can do one thing to help nature, to help each other, to help our planet.

This is my rallying cry, to reluctant activists everywhere, because if we don’t do it, who will?

Let us fill up our reusable mugs, pack our snacks, and step out in sensible footwear to take one small, hopeful action at a time.