I have a confession to make. As much as I can see why AI is a no-go zone for serious writers, as a non-writer writer, I have to admit that I’ve been dabbling around the edges of AI. Not to actually write, but for things like working out the structure of chapters and minor edits for grammar and spelling. When I mention this to others, it seems that everyone has either an experience of using AI, or an opinion about it. Usually both.

I haven’t been able to watch any of Attenborough's films for a long time. Not because they aren't beautiful or important, but because they open a floodgate of emotion. Seeing the breathtaking wonder of our natural world through his lens, and then the extent to which we are degrading it, seeing how our non-human siblings are suffering through no fault of their own makes me feel sadder than I can bear. This contradiction—between needing to see and being overwhelmed by what we witness—is what I now know is called environmental grief.

The slow drip of time
does the magic
So let the stillness lead you
to drink life
sip by sip

I have just spent a beautiful week in the mountains. It wasn’t a holiday, even though it felt like one. I went to a small meditation centre, as a volunteer, to cook for a group of meditators. I’ve been visiting the centre for years…

Lately, things have been feeling a bit on the panicky side. Not just the low hum of existential worry we’ve grown used to, but something a bit sharper in focus. Since the Trump tariffs hit the headlines, conversatons inevitably turn to the mayhem and then “Have you heard what else he’s done?” And he’s not even running of the country I’m living in. It’s like a collective, anxious, holding of the breath.

This, my first post on Artful Collapse, begins with a reflection on a recent trip to Vietnam. While there was culture, beauty and hospitality, I encountered something else—an unsettling sense that the pace of change in the world has shifted to a different gear. This piece is both a personal story and a meditation on the quiet unraveling of what we used to call ‘normal’—a reflection on what we’ve already lost, and the feelings that surface when we finally start to notice.

In December last year, when I opened my Facebook account for a bit of mindless scrolling, a message popped up from the administrators: I had breached the ‘code of conduct’ and needed to provide a reason if my account was to continue. It looked legitimate. I panicked, clicked the link (I know, I know…) answered the questions and—just like that—my account was gone. After months of frustration, I decided to emotionally step away.

Over the six years it took to complete my Ph.D, my understanding of art, sustainability, and human potential fundamentally transformed. My research began with a simple realization: our environmental crisis isn't merely a failure of policy or technology—it's a failure of thinking.