A Moment’s Wreckage

Last week an unprecedented storm took down much of the waterfront in my neighbourhood. Ugly concrete structures built illegally next to the water’s edge were demolished by waves never before witnessed in this sleepy seaside town. They came in like aliens, cleverly snuck themselves under the sandy foundations and simply let gravity do the rest. It was literally a case of castles in the sand.

I always hated this dystopian waterfront anyway: a pile of thousands of tons of concrete, built upon what should have been conservation habitat for endangered salt marsh vegetation. As sea level continues to rise and I witness bigger winter storms each year, nature continues its reclamation project, with or without planning permission: it is passionately remodelling the waterfront.

Walking along the wreckage I can’t help but be in awe of the power of the moment, as structures that stood there for decades became rubble overnight. A long-abandoned 80’s discotheque. A pedestrian walkway. An entire restaurant gutted out and invaded by sand dunes. A walk along any beach is not for the faint-hearted: you witness the power of renewal of the waves, and right next to it, you always run into a carcass. Today it was a bird. Last week it was a sea turtle. Last year, a large dolphin. They all became part of the wreckage. Maybe they were too old, or maybe they had a bad moment in the waves.

But each moment’s wreckage is the next moment’s beginning. Too often we stay stuck forever mourning the moments that were going to elapse anyway, failing to see that the wreckage they leave behind is the birthplace of the next moment. Even a doomer should look forward to a new day, even if it’s yet another demolition day. I’m done with mourning what is lost, as well as what will be lost. I’m looking for new moments, because it is only these that I have any power over.

I draw energy from collapse, not only because this is all there is to witness at this point, but because I know that rubble makes for excellent, versatile building material. On a planet that recycles energy, carcasses, and entire civilizations, something or someone will surely make use of this pile of wreckage.

We are all first-hand witnesses of a global demolition taking place: of social structures, of our personal freedoms, and of a planet that has already been mauled beyond recognition by a species that is as quick to generate new moments as it is to bury them. Being a witness comes with responsibility. You can take the selfie video in front of the tsunami, but this only worships the moment of the wreckage itself. Moments die whether we record them or not. What matters is what you decide to make out of their wreckage.

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