Hannah Ellens

As organic products were taking over the supermarket shelves, sustainability is taking over business and society. Sustainable business, sustainable food, sustainable pee. We want it all, to improve the world.

And that, dear reader, is not possible. Sustainability does not exist. Sustainability is not a solution to all problems. You’re basically talking about giving back as much as you take. But where a vegetarian prevents animals from a lot of suffering, he inflicts a waste stream on the environment that we can no longer get rid of at the factory farming companies. The housewife, who buys tomatoes from the farm in the next village, does not realize that she would save more energy by buying tomatoes that are brought in from Spain. Of course she doesn’t now, nobody told her this. Growing tomatoes in a greenhouse costs more energy than driving a truck from Madrid to Amsterdam. Local products are sustainable, is what they tell you everywhere. Not always, apparently.

Sustainability is not easy: in fact, it’s damn hard. You shouldn’t wish to pursue sustainability: you need to live sustainable yourself. Reach a sustainable world by focusing on what you care about and figuring out where your priorities lie. In that way we can actually reach something, slowly, together. There is no ‘road to sustainability’, but every contribution you make, is a step in the right direction.

There immediately lies the biggest problem. Because there are so many different elements and parties involved in so-called ‘sustainable living’, there is lots of information. Environment, animal welfare, health, energy, everything has its own sustainable strategy. Who has time for that nowadays? It’s much easier to throw it all in one word, and put that definition out on the market. Because sustainability is nothing more than that: a marketing term. It is a fashion item and, like with most fashion items, people don’t want to put too much effort in it and certainly don’t want to think about it too much. Convenience prevails. People want to eat organic, as long as you can easily get it at the supermarket. Everyone wants to be sustainable, but we’d like it if that doesn’t require any changes in our daily life.

With this growing need for convenience, speed and the excuse that we’re all “too busy”, combined with the erroneous impression that is created by the use of the word ‘sustainability’, we continue to fail. And failing doesn’t encourage anyone to persevere. If we continue to believe in sustainability as it is currently presented, we will never reach our goal – as we strive for an illusion. In my opinion, sustainability should be taking out of the dictionary, taken away from the company vision, the government plans – away with all of it. Let’s talk about what we want to improve and how we can organize our lives permanently in a realistic way. Become a vegetarian if you care about animal suffering, eat organic if you want to stay healthy. Let everyone choose his or her own way and make sure you’re personally successful in your own sustainable, conscious life. After all, a better world begins with yourself.

This was my first Thanksgiving ever. Unfortunately most of the restaurants were closed and we ended up ordering pizza. So no turkey for me. But that’s OK. I got something way better:

Silence.

San Francisco had turned into a serious ghost town this Thursday. Shops were closed, windows were dark; people were in hiding. No car driving on the street below my window. There was no one. Of course Fisherman’s Wharf was filled with people, but two blocks out and you could feel the emptiness again. I could hear my footsteps, my breathing. I could look as far as the end of the street and see every stone on the sidewalk without feet stepping on them. I could almost hear my own thoughts.

It was exciting and scary at the same time. It was thrilling to be in such an unnatural setting of a deserted city. It was nothing from what I expected.

It was a great Thanksgiving. So here’s a thanks to that: the silenced city.

I never liked politics. The ‘game’ disgusts me. The people appall me. But the thing is – politics have made it to my backyard, like they do when you’re growing up. So I’ve taken an interest in it. I try to listen to what politicians say, what difference their actions make for my way of living. But it’s hard, especially when all they’re saying is how wrong their opponent is. Hundreds of commercials fly by every day and if I had the right to vote for an American governor, that vote would not be based on the programs for improvement. It would be based on which person took the least wrong turns, according to the other. Crazy isn’t it? Nothing sane about it. John Stewart thinks the same way and took action. If only you could vote for him…

There’s a lot going on in the streets of San Diego. There are markets where they s almost entirely organic mustard, surfers follow their nose to the ocean, hay makes a fine background for a Halloween stand and pigeons keep watch over traffic lights. I like to enlighten you on that last one.

I like pigeons that are just chilling, hanging out. Waiting before a traffic light, I looked at the pigeons on the light poles with pleasure. One of the pigeons flew up, followed by a second one, after that a third one, pole by pole, until they were all hanging up in the air. You’d expect they had a new place in mind to hang out, but this was not the case. None of the waiting cars were moving, while the pigeons flew circles around the traffic light. Like time had stopped for a second. After six rounds they settled down on their poles again, one by one. Our light jumped to green.

There are all kinds of heroes. They all provide an example somewhere and they’re all unreachable and unique. I have many in my life. John McClane for starters: someone who does everything wrong but saves the world by doing so. Someone with whom it’s not a bad thing when there is a clear sign of exaggeration, because he is sexy and tough at the same time. My fictive hero.

Then there are also the real, tangible heroes. The people who know what you feel even before you can grasp it all yourself. People who will always back you up and at the same time will try to make you strive for more, to get the best out of yourself. People who still give you the kind of clothes that you don’t really wear anymore and who also give advice at times when you don’t want them to, but always with the best intentions and often the desired effect. The pillars in my life where I can always run to, who always have the answers and who are capable of learning from me as well. My parents.

More often around me are those who easily sense it when you need something, without saying a word. Those who make you smile when you’re cranky, who say that you look pretty just because they can and those who join you when you’re scared to go alone. Those who you can’t see for months, but with whom it will always be like before. Those you can sit next to on the couch for hours in silence, with whom you laugh until you cry, hold hands on the street and who brush their teeth while you are on the toilet. My friends.

She is the one that makes you more worried than you can ever be about someone. She who makes you more proud than anyone can ever make you and inspires you to discover parts of yourself that you’ve never paid that much attention to. She who you want to change to much, want to protect so much, but who teaches you even more and always throws her arm around you at the right moment. My little sister.

There is also the one who walks into the room and makes everything right. He who sends a spontaneous kiss through a text message, who can call you for hours, just listening to each other breathing. He who buys tickets to your favorite concert without saying anything and who always lights a candle for dinner. He who stimulates you to do what you do best, who knows what you like and will do everything to give it to you. My dream man.

Enough heroes in my life. And I only hope that I can be a hero for someone, somewhere in a lifetime.

My left breast is getting squished against the window pane and the window-ledge pokes in

Foto: Louwrens Ellens

my ribs as the three of us are watching the fireworks that are being lit up over our city. Our view is perfect. On the left shines the New Years Cheer from the Market, in front bangs the neighbor with his fireworks and on the right the West Harbour shoots decorations our way. With the ultimate feeling of happiness, we smile at all those lights and glitter who define the start of 2009.

Sixteen hours, over fifty beers and at least ten glasses of champagne later, you start the first day of the new year by stepping out of your bed when it is already getting dark outside again. In the fridge of the house where you slept is no solid food to be found, but luckily your friend has some leftovers that she is happy to share with you. Tomato soup and brie cheese, all a person needs. With your scars tucked in firmly and your collar high up, you carefully enter the world of the living.

And then you smell it. Smoldering fireworks, the thaw that is being deployed and everything that belongs to the lovely smell that spreads the new years. I take a deep sniff and enter 2009 in good spirit.

It’s a nice summer afternoon. As if Twitter had set everyone up to it, all young people are taking over the park dragging bottles of pink wine and bags full of baguettes and pate with them. Men are controlling the barbecue and kick some balls around. Ladies shine up their sunglasses and try to absorb as much sun as possible with their skin. And watching people of course.

There’s always something extra when you’re watching people.

Two officers on bike pass by some boys and reprimand them for making a fire. ‘But Mr. Officer, the barbecue is already off.’ It’s hot and their young, is what the men in uniform must have thought. After a simple, ‘yeah all right’, they bike along, slowly. Two horny pigeons attack a boy who is trying to eat his sandwich. A young lady lights up a smoke after sending her daughter to the playground with a slice of salami.

Three elderly people take their places on a small bench. Seventy years old, maybe even seventy five. Beige, linen pants, a thin white fleece vest, just stepped out of a brochure for a camping store. A vast smile is set on their faces and they’re satisfied, looking out over the spread out green, covered with abundance. We offer them a glass of wine. This they refuse, but the lady can’t let us go without telling us how much she is enjoying the scene.

‘Isn’t it wonderful, the way you are all sitting here, living your lives. Truly wonderful, you know.’

I think she is sincere about it and it comforts me. For how great would it be if I could sit on a bench with my friends, in say 50 years or so, with the same satisfied smile as I have on my face today, just looking at people to see how fortuned we all are?

It’s Saturday and we are too late for Joan Baez. The Golden Gate Park seems flooded by a wave of people and we dive into the woods, looking for a last place to sit. We can barely see the stage, but the guards are just changing so we have time for mourn for the loss of Ms. Baez – for that is who we came here for. An interesting crowd of people passes in front of us on the path. Business men, still wearing their suits, children with Mickey Mouse hats, girls with leggings and large T-shirts and elderly people in fleece vests.

Around us are the people who continue to spread the hippie feeling from the sixties. On colorful rugs lie dog laces: twirled rope with blue and red beads. For sale for ten dollars. A man and a woman with a dog lie close to each other while passing on a marijuana pipe. With three threads, blue, red and green, is a girl with Peace signed earrings trying to twirl the hair of a boy to a happy tuft of color. On the grounds is a bus with two kids on the roof, climbing up there to see more of the stage. When the music sounds, everybody gets up to move their hips slowly left to right. There is a vast smile on everyone’s face and they applaud when the final accord ends.

The chairs of the day before are gone. The crowd stands on it’s on two feet. And when Gillian Welch starts playing, my weekend is complete.

While the metro climbs the high cold of San Francisco, the people on board are discussing the best way to enter the festival. 23^rd Street, says Mark, who doesn’t have a specific artist that he wants to see – he’s ‘just happy to be off work for a while’. We get off on 23^rd Street. It’s Friday, so still quiet. Tomorrow and Sunday this place will be sworming with people.

We cross a road, walk over a path in the park and then take a shortcut through the woods. Straight down, on my flip flops, I fear for a painful slide, but hop, there I am in front of Arrow Stage, where The Waybacks and Sarah Dugas sing me a song. There are food stalls on the right, people are sitting on the grass or on camping chairs they brought from home and the atmosphere is indulgent – almost childishly happy. My purpose to come here today is Patty Griffin – she’s playing at Rooster stage, a small stage a little further on. After he has changed his shirt, put on a necklace with a shiny, round stone and opened his first beer (six pack in the backpack), Mark shows me the way.

It’s cold, a lot colder than in the city and I see girls, women, with perky skirts, firm leg warmers, hats, necklaces, tie-die shirts, men with cowboy hats and boys with flasks of whisky. San Francisco – with flowers in your hair…

Mark comes here every year, he used to live next to the park, those were the good days. ‘I didn’t go here the first time, ‘ he admits. ‘When they said what they were planning to do, I thought no, that’s gonna be a mess. But it turned out to be very well organized.’ We sat on the hill for a while and decide to get closer to the stage, with a friend of his who he went to The Netherlands with. I ask him why this festival is so special. ‘You will see for yourself in the next couple of days!’ he laughs and then continues, ‘the best artists perform at this festival, the line-up is truly amazing. And it’s for free! Everything is taken care of, the atmosphere is just very relaxed. But I especially like it that there are also bands you’ve never heard of. You get to know all this new stuff.’

Then Patty gets on stage. There are cheers, but coming from sitting people. As far as I can see, there are people – all sitting on chairs they brought, or rugs or plastic bags. On the side, with the fences are people standing, including me. The star at the stage exceeds all my expectations. When Emmylou Harris joins her for a song, I’m afraid I’ll explode with happiness. Mark leaves for another stage and we say goodbye. An hour and a half later I walk towards 22^nd Street, while masses of people are still on their way to the park. Two hours at Hardly Strictly Bluegrass and I am already convinced.

Sometimes I wonder if man and woman are genuinely meant to be together. Not that I question monogamy, I just can’t picture that man and that woman living a life together.

A woman needs friends. Men are better at being alone, kicking some silly ball or stand there with a fishing rod for hours in a row. Do you see a woman doing that?

Exactly. And men really can’t take a lot from women. Women moan and whine, jabber on about this thing called feelings. How are those two suppose to mix and match?

Of course there are many advantages; physically ánd emotionally. Fine. Very often you also have something in common. Interest in the world perhaps, in society and politics. You both wonder where this world is going and how you can make a difference in this process. He has a passion for sports and she appreciates the fact that he can be that enthusiastic for something so specific. It is hard to find people with a purpose in life and direct devotion these days. He likes it that she thinks about stuff that is going on in the world and about what keeps people busy.

That’s all wonderful.

But after a while he wants to be alone to do useless things on a computer that have something to do with American Football. She’s at the bar with real girly girls and even though she really couldn’t care less, she is relieved to be able to talk about the hair dresser, Lady Ga Ga’s new look, the newest tips to lose weight, which lotion is or isn’t fit for certain body parts and about menstruation cramps which a man will never understand.

But the best thing about this type of satisfactory girl talk is that it only lasts so long. After that she can return to the man who was already done with lying alone on the couch. And that keeps quite a balance of things.