My web wanderings have taken me to some interesting places this week. One of those was No Impact Man, the web site of Colin Beaven, whose news story I blogged about last week. He and his family have undertaken a year-long simple living experiment in their Manhattan apartment…no electricity, no chemicals, no toilet paper. Not only has Beaven written a book about the experience, but there’s now a movie in the making.
By the sounds of things, we should be taking our friends’ advice to write about our experiences. When I read No Impact Man, I can see where the publicity might go a fair way towards helping the world change its destructive ways, and it’s very tempting. Then I think about all the attention it’s garnering, of how many eyes are trained on the Beaven family, of the impact of that focus, and I cringe.
There are many people outgoing enough to thrive on the front lines of the activist scene. I’m not one of them. Just the thoughts of a public appearance is enough to send this sociophobe under the bed, and yet this is what authors have to do to spread the word far enough for it to make any difference.
While I admire the Beaven’s pluck and laud them for their remarkable efforts, it’s not something I could take on, not even to save the world. Given my antisocial nature, I’m sceptical as to how effective I would even be in such a role.
So I think that if I do ever arrange our experiences into some sort of book-length chronicle, it won’t be with the intention of making a big impact in the environmental awareness arena. Our homesteading misadventures may amuse and enlighten, you never know, but the author won’t be coming down off the hill.