The note we didn’t mean to write
A Letter to Earth
Dear Earth,
We didn’t mean to write this. But here we are — messy, sincere, and a tad embarrassed. Consider this our overdue apology. We treated you like a rental car: returned with strange smells, three warning lights blinking, and a guilt we tried to mask with air freshener. Sorry.
We tried. Sort of. We chased comfort, speed, and shiny new things. We built clever gadgets and bright ideas. They helped — sometimes too well. A shortcut to convenience became a long-term headache. A product that saved a minute added a lifetime of waste. Roads linked towns but sliced through your quiet forests. Bigger dams promised water security and gave some rivers an identity crisis. We connected people across oceans and then filled remote places with noise and trinkets.
Most progress came with fine print. The kind that whispers “may affect weather patterns” and “some habitats will change.” We skimmed it. We clicked “accept.” We meant well. Mostly.
And then came the messes. We bumped up your thermostat and left it on. Summers got louder. Storms got moodier. Weather started auditioning for a drama series. Those small emissions added up like pennies in a jar — until the jar started leaking heat.
Single-use made itself comfortable. Packaging multiplied. Plastics drifted into places no one planned for. Trash is not polite — it travels by wind, floats down rivers, and settles in your quiet corners.
We rearranged the furniture in the house we share with other species. Some adapted. Many did not. Animals lost space slowly, like socks leaving the dryer — one at a time until there are gaps in the drawer.
We treated water like an unlimited tap and soil like an endless shelf. Both are finicky when ignored. Rivers change course, and fertile topsoil can vanish with a single season of bad choices.
We filled natural quiet with constant signals. Starry nights faded. Nocturnal life now studies human schedules and adjusts its bedtime.
We messed up. We meant well.
We know it’s not about grand gestures. It’s about the small, honest ones — the kind that don’t make headlines but do make a difference. So we’ll try harder. We’ll use less, fix more, and ask better questions. We’ll nudge the rules toward sanity and the habits toward kindness. We’ll stop treating you like a temporary stop and start acting like we live here. Because we do.
This isn’t a farewell. It’s a promise. One we intend to keep — awkwardly, imperfectly, but earnestly.
With humility, hope, and a toolbox full of good intentions,
Us