Do you by flying to?

 

At eighteen, Eleanor's life changed in two monumental ways. First, she left the financial district of London, leaving behind the stock and shares department of a bank where she had begun her career just that summer, straight from school, commuting daily on the train into London just as the generation before her had, since the mass departure that had taken her parents out of East London in the 1970s. Second, her father changed the locks on their modest run down home the moment she announced she was going to university. His words, sharp as glass, lingered in the air long after: "I'm not paying a penny for your nonsense."

Eleanor didn't flinch. Years of hardship and neglect had hardened her in a streetwise way that she considered admirable . Instead, she bought a bag, packed her things, boarded the train - a familiar comfort - and never looked back.

Her family had always traveled by train. They couldn’t afford a car, and her parents’ physical and mental disabilities precluded it , but more importantly they were advocates for Friends of the Earth, and had inadvertently raised her to believe in the sanctity of the planet. Trains were clean, efficient, and, most importantly, they didn’t choke the skies. Eleanor had never questioned this worldview until she saw her first motorway at eighteen. It was an unplanned detour during a university orientation trip. The endless stretch of asphalt, the roaring tide of vehicles spewing fumes into the sky—it revolted her. That night, she sat cross-legged on her dormitory bed and made a decision. She swapped her degree from technological physics - a choice made to prove her worth and inspired by her glamorous physics teacher - to biological and biochemical sciences. She would no longer contribute to a world so blind to its own destruction.

University was not easy. She worked mornings as a cleaner in a factory, midday in a canteen and nights in a call centre to pay her rent, studied hard and navigated the loneliness of being estranged from her family, and created by being unable to live in university halls or on campus or take part in many of the other students activities. Her mother had left the marital home before her and was torn between loyalty to her new husband and love for her daughter. Eleanor had no one but herself. But she found solace in her studies, in learning ways to heal the wounds humanity inflicted on the planet. By the time she graduated, she had secured a placement in the water industry, working on innovative methods to treat contaminated wastewater using environmentally friendly processes. It was work that felt meaningful, and for the first time, she felt like she was making a difference.

Life, however, had other plans. Eleanor became a mother. The father disappeared before their son, Theo, was even born, leaving her to navigate single parenthood alone. Her mother, who had finally reached out in tentative reconciliation, passed away from cancer just weeks after Theo’s birth. Grief threatened to consume her, but she pressed on. She had no choice. She raised her son with the same determination she applied to her work, balancing late-night feedings with early-morning meetings, reading engineering textbooks while rocking Theo to sleep.

Years passed. Eleanor became a chartered engineer, rising to prominence in her field. She worked with a consultancy dedicated to combating climate change, addressing the crisis that had haunted her since she was a teenager. She spent her days advocating for reduced carbon emissions, designing systems that could make industries greener, and pushing for policies that prioritized sustainability over profit. She believed in her work. She believed in hope.

But hope is fragile.

Her consultancy sent her on a work trip to America. It was her first time on an airplane. As she sat in the cramped economy seat, watching the flight attendants distribute earphones, she politely declined, not understanding their purpose. It wasn’t until she glanced around at the other passengers, engrossed in the tiny screens embedded in the seatbacks, that she realized the earphones were for entertainment. She asked for a pair, embarrassed but curious.

The flight felt surreal. It wasn’t just a plane—it was a playground in the sky. There were games, movies, music, endless distractions to pass the hours. People laughed, drank wine, and reclined in their seats as if they weren’t hurtling through the atmosphere on a machine guzzling thousands of gallons of fuel. Eleanor couldn’t enjoy it. She pressed her forehead against the small window, staring down at the vast expanse of ocean below, and thought about the carbon emissions spewing into the air. She thought about the low-lying islands disappearing beneath rising seas, the species losing their habitats, the storms growing fiercer, the deserts expanding. And all for what? For convenience? For leisure?

When she returned home, she couldn’t shake the disquiet. She tried talking to her colleagues, her peers. Many were sympathetic but resigned. Even those she admired, environmentalists she had looked up to for years, made concessions. “Just one long-haul flight a year,” one said on television, as if it were a compromise worth celebrating.

Eleanor couldn’t accept it. If even the most vocal advocates for sustainability made excuses for their carbon footprints, what hope was there for the rest of the world? She thought of Theo, now a teenager, and the world he would inherit. She thought of the forests that might no longer exist, the cities that might be underwater, the wars that might be fought over dwindling resources. She had spent her entire life fighting for a future she no longer believed in.

One evening, as she sat in her small living room, Theo beside her with his schoolbooks, she voiced her fears. “What’s the point?” she asked, more to herself than to him. “If no one cares enough to change, what’s the point of anything I do?”

Theo looked up, his brow furrowed. “You care, Mum. Isn’t that enough?”

His words stayed with her. Maybe it wasn’t enough. Maybe the world was doomed. But as Eleanor looked at her son, she realized that giving up wasn’t an option. She had to keep fighting, not because it was easy or because victory was certain, but because it was the right thing to do. For Theo. For herself. For the planet.

The next morning, she walked into her office with renewed determination. The world might not care, but she did. And as long as she did, there was still hope - fragile, fleeting, but alive.