Dear conservationist, you may not be able to do enough, but you can be enough.

Dear conservationist,

I am going to start this letter off by saying something controversial and borderline illegal, and that is, recently, dear conservationist, I feel like I’ve made it.

Usually, when you picture someone “making it”, you may envision someone at the highest point of their career. You may picture someone who has climbed the entire ladder, every. single. wrung. Someone who has done all they can do and all they want to do. The image in your mind may even be of someone who is lying back, sipping a margarita with a smug look on their face, proud of all they have achieved. This, my friends, is not who I am.

Who I am is a 32-year-old living in a rental, with an acknowledged realism surrounding my potential inability to retire, buy a house, or any of the traditional milestones that generations before me could afford. I switch jobs more frequently than anyone I know, complete with the associated stigma, and always on the hunt for a place that feels right for me. Though Lonely Conservationists is doing well, it’s not something I can afford to do full time, nor would it make sense to do so at this point in my life.

I have definitely not reached the summit of the mountain of goals that I hope I can achieve in my lifetime, and heck, I am still young, as people love to remind me. But the thing is, in conservation, most of us have set out to do the impossible. The ultimate dream for many conservationists is that there is no longer a need for a conservation sector, the world is healthy, and that our resources are abundant and used in balance and reciprocity. The way we are going at the moment, it doesn’t look as if that grand vision is going to eventuate any time soon. To be honest with you all, as a conservationist, I didn’t ever expect to feel as if I had made it, as the goals are always too lofty and there will always be more to do in my lifetime.

To top it all off, to say I am a conservationist also feels disingenuous since I have made my transition as a proud conservationist conservationist. My involvement in the sector in a traditional conservation capacity, even the bird photography that I do for fun, has been at an all-time low this year due to extra work hours and a job outside of the sector. As you know, I believe that everyone can be a conservationist with any amount of effort, so for me to feel a bit impostory as a conservationist should adequately stress the disconnect I have recently experienced with things like tree planting, citizen science, and sustainability education. But impostor syndrome isn’t welcome around these parts, so I will take a moment to acknowledge the potential good that could have resulted from the conservation work of others whom I have helped to care for. Meta efforts still count right?!

So, considering my status on the mid to low rungs of the career ladder, my uncertain financial future, and my lack of accolades, I have been questioning the validity of my recent feelings of content. If I haven’t succeeded in this way, then why do I feel like I have made it? After some pondering of this unsettling, strange peace within my soul that has arisen after a lifetime of striving, changing, adjusting, and adapting, I have come to realise the truth at the core of it all. You see, dear conservationist, I don’t feel like I have made it because of what I have achieved, no. I feel that I have made it because of the person I have become. The truth is, in this sector, we may never be able to do enough, but I promise you that we can be enough.

The first time I felt as if I had made it was last year. I am pretty sure I have written to you about this before, but a student who had seen me talk at her university reached out and asked me if she could intern at my place of work. Her resume didn’t adequately sell her skills, so I tried my best to sell her desirable qualities on her behalf, speaking to the calibre of the university students that I had previously worked with from that course. My colleagues ended up giving her a chance as a result of my recommendation, and upon taking her on, she was the best damn intern we could have asked for. She even baked us bikkies (Aussie translation: biscuits), need I say more!

This experience of advocating for the intern to join our team was so important to me because I got to be the person that I needed at the start of my career. I can’t stress how important that felt to me. Growing up, all I ever wanted to be was the adult I needed at varying stages of my life, and now I could be that adult for others. *chefs kiss* I remember feeling as though, if I had been forced to retire then and there (what a luxury!), that I’d be proud of the impact that I have had on the world and the person I have evolved into. How could it be that simple?

Unexpectedly, I also experienced this feeling very soon after I fell down the stairs on my way to speak at a podium facing a room full of hundreds of conference delegates a couple of weeks ago. For a reason I can’t fully articulate, the fact that I fell, hobbled to the podium and presented whilst weaving in the fall as an example of the need for accessibility, well, I guess it made me feel a bit invincible despite my obvious show of vincibility. Falls are inherently embarrassing, and many people also find it unbearable to speak in front of large crowds, so to do both at once felt strangely empowering.

I think this experience speaks to my learned comfort with imperfection. Embracing failure, apologising for mistakes and owning them as a learning experience is an element of my personality that I am proud to have curated. Digging deeper than that, my failure positivity is one of the core ways that I care for myself. I remove the expectation that I need to perform at a rate I can’t reach or sustain, and embrace the weird and wonderful trials and tribulations of being human. Recently, I have come to terms with the fact that it would be weirder for me to have no regrets or to be flawless, so like art, journal entries, or hand-made pottery, I relish in the imperfections that let you know I’m more person than robot.

Remember my use of the word curated? I wasn’t born immune to embarrassment, inherently prone to advocating for people, or any of the traits that have served me well to this point. Over time, with work and intention, I seemed to have honed a version of myself that I am proud to be. I literally made it, the it being this version of myself that I am so proud of. I think these feelings of being settled and at peace have signalled that I have sorted out a lot of the kinks that have been bothering me, and I am mostly content with this version of Jessie that I am writing to you as today. It doesn’t matter what I do, or where I go, but it feels right to imagine going through the undulations of life and working towards the change I want to see as this particular person.

I write about this newfound peace, not to brag about my inner alignment, but to share that showing up in small ways that make yourself proud is a form of care that I have found is truly nourishing. It seems simple: do unto those as you’d like done unto you; however, when you are so fixated on how things should be, you often forget that you have some control over how they currently are. Conservationists are chronic worriers about the future, so it pays to remind ourselves of the opportunities that come from being intentional in the moment. After all, it is all these small present moments that dictate what the future will look like.

It turns out that, after a lifetime of striving, chasing dreams, and working hard, all that really matters to me now is that I am showing up to care for people and planet in the small moments that make up every day…oh, and that I can eloquently speak after falling down the stairs. Maybe this is the next step in my ongoing journey of decolonising my mind. I no longer feel the urge to save, discover, or receive accolades for my work or contributions, but instead, my satisfaction comes from being in positive relation with those around me, Country, and my core values. I haven’t burnt out in over a year, and I think it’s because I traded those hard and fast boom and bust cycles of productivity for a more steady journey of reciprocal care. An exceptional deal if you ask me.

It turns out that the small things are the big things in the end.

With care,

Jessie