Ethnographic entry: my partner's sustainability journey
Photo source: Hubert Buch-Hansen
Preface
For some years, while studying my own practices via autoethnography, I have been dreaming about doing more ethnographic work. That is to say, studying, observing, learning about and from, others' practices too. On my research journey, I notice that autoethnography and ethnography overlap to a large extent. Very often, I engage in conversations with my fellow humans about relating with the world differently and living more sustainably. Where do I and my practice end and where do others and their practices begin? Living sustainability, i.e., enacting it in one's everyday life is not simply my personal undertaking, even though it might seem so on the surface. It is part of various movements in society, such as slow living, simple living, minimalism, and zero-waste. It's constantly inspired and encouraged by fellow others. I dream about sharing stories of my fellow humans' sustainability journeys. As I gently step into this dream, I want to share my partner's story. I want to share it because it is, in so many ways, different from mine. I grew up in a home that was immersed in nature. Learning about plants and animals, as well as closely interacting with them was an important part of my childhood. I've been foraging from a young age. I became interested in veganism and minimalism early on in my life: I was in my late teens/early twenties. Reading my partner's unique story was a humbling experience. Here is his Sustainability Journey:
Childhood
When I was a child in the 1980s and early 1990s, I don’t remember there
being much focus on the climate, on biodiversity or on sustainability - neither
in school, in conversations with friends or in newspapers. I recall nature
documentaries on TV in which it would be mentioned, typically towards the very
end, that specific species were endangered or that global warming was unfolding.
Yet my impression is that, overall, climate change was not an issue that was
very much on most peoples’ minds, let alone one that shaped their practices
much.
My little brother and I were mainly raised by our mother. She became a
single mother by the time I was 6 and he was 3. Throughout my childhood, she
supported the family on a teacher’s wage, supplemented with some child support money
from my father. So economic resources were quite scarce and certainly not
conducive to any form of overconsumption. But my brother and I were provided
with everything we needed to have a good childhood, both in terms of material
items and in terms of love and support.
Before I was born, my father and mother had implemented various
sustainable practices in their first joint home. For example, they used wooden
boxes that had been used for transporting egg trays as bookcases and the like. I
think my mother’s mindset remained sufficiency-oriented during my childhood, although
it was perhaps gradually moderated somewhat. On this view you should only get
new stuff if you really need it, and not waste money on acquiring things with
little use value. Also, she was strongly leftish. Dinner table conversations in
my childhood home would often concern political questions and societal
developments. Certainly, this upbringing shaped my own outlook.
During my childhood, I lived with my mother and brother in a housing cooperative
in a Copenhagen suburb, located right next to a wonderful forest. Here I would
regularly play with other children and go for walks with family members.
Growing up in these green surroundings I came to appreciate the natural world
from an early age, developing a sense of empathy with non-humans and an appreciation
of nature’s beauty. From an early age I would feel sadness when a beautiful
tree was cut down or nature was in other ways being destroyed.
Although we would spend time in the forest, I think I equally or to a
larger extent enjoyed indoor life: reading, having friends over, playing
instruments, spending time with primitive computer games and such things. I didn’t
become the sort of child who knows the names of many plants and non-human
beings, or who has intimate knowledge of what is edible in nature and what is
not. From an early age I was more interested in societal matters than in
biology.
In most respects I think my childhood can be described as a, in a Danish
context, quite typical middle-class childhood. It was conventional in most
respects but also contained elements that would become important to later pursuits
of a more sustainable lifestyle.
University and after
By the time I started at university in the late 1990s, there was more
focus in the public sphere on environmental degradation and climate change. I
enrolled in a social science programme, and one of the first assignments I
wrote was on the topic of EU environmental policy. Yet still, the environment
was only one among many issues calling my name.
I increasingly developed an interest in the regulation of competition in
Europe, in critical political economy theory and in critical realist philosophy.
Having completed my master’s degree, in 2005 I began working on a PhD thesis revolving
around these interests. Environmental issues were only to a small extent the
focus of this research, but subsequently I decided to write a book on European
competition regulation with a colleague based on our respective theses. Working
on the concluding chapter of this book I came to the realisation that competition
has a major negative impact on the environment. This was quite a revelation to
me. I started reading literatures on capitalism and the environment, and this
led me to ecological economics and degrowth.
Around 2009 and into early 2010 I became increasingly aware not only of
the seriousness of the ecological crisis, but also of the mismatch between this
knowledge and how I was living myself. For example, I would fly to the US and
other places far from Copenhagen to attend conferences. I ate meat on a daily
basis. I used household products with no consideration of the chemicals they
contained.
As mentioned, critical realist philosophy was central to my research. In
this philosophy, the notion of theory-practice consistency is central. The
notion points to the importance of acting consistently with your theories; and it
entails that we should only take those seriously who practice what they preach.
Further to this, in my own life I found it increasingly difficult to justify to
myself that some of my practices contradicted my theories or beliefs about how
to live in sustainable and ethical ways.
After submitting my PhD thesis, I took a year off. Both to work on the
aforementioned book but also to just get a break from life in the university. I
eventually applied for a job in academia and got it. It would commence on 1st
of May 2010. On that same date I would receive the keys for my new home in
Copenhagen (a home located in near proximity of my future office so that I
would not need to spend time and energy on commuting from home to work). I now decided
to make this a date on which even bigger, more long-lasting, changes to my life
would be initiated. I would start using fragrance-free and ecologically
friendly household and personal care products. I would stop flying in
connection with my work and only fly sparingly in my private life. Most
importantly, I would change my diet and become a pescetarian on a mainly
vegetarian diet.
I had my last meal with meat (other than fish) some weeks prior to 1st
of May and had also started phasing out certain household and personal care
products before then. Yet it still felt as if 1st of May 2010 marked
the beginning of a new, different life. I found it much easier to implement the
lifestyle changes than I had expected. As I remember it, my friends and family
neither supported nor objected to the changes. Knowing how passionately I felt
for the meat-based Danish cuisine, I think they were surprised by – and
somewhat curious about – the change pertaining to diet. Noone in my social
circle was on this sort of diet. But I never sensed that it was a big deal to
any of them. I remember that the changed diet had immediate benefits in terms
of a higher energy level – and that the changes more generally felt good
because I now lived more in tune with my beliefs.
2010-2022
Then followed a decade or so during which I remained on the path
initiated in the previous decade without implementing any fundamental lifestyle
changes. Changes did take place, though. For instance, the municipality in
which I lived introduced an increasingly elaborate recycling system, reflecting
a growing focus on aspects of sustainability in Danish society. Although most
electronic equipment (laptops, phones, headphones, a record player, an electric
toothbrush, a camera, a blender) I acquired during this period were new, some
of it I got as second-hand items. During most of this period, I was in a
relationship with a person who, like myself, would mostly eat vegetarian and
occasionally pescetarian food. This made it easy to remain on this dietary path.
We became involved in a local food cooperative, giving us access to seasonal
vegetables and fruits grown by small producers, mainly on Zealand (the Island
on which Copenhagen is situated). Still, we would buy most food in cooperative
supermarkets.
Both of us having quite well-paid jobs in academia, I was economically better
off during this period than earlier in my life. This made it possible to donate
to environmental NGOs. An important aspect of my “sustainability practice” at
this point pertains to what I abstained from changing. For example, I abstained
from buying a car even though I certainly could have afforded it, and it would
have been convenient at times. Instead, I continued using a bike and public
transport as my main modes of transportation, occasionally supplementing them
with taking a taxi or renting a car.
How society can become ecologically sustainable became a major focus in
my research during this period. I started collaborating with sustainability
researchers, occasionally working with an environmental NGO and giving public
talks on degrowth. I also began introducing my students to this issue and
involved myself in work to make the workplace (my department) a more
sustainable space.
Recent years
My interest in degrowth and critical realist philosophy brought me into
contact with my current partner. Having fallen in love with each other, we
moved in together in a flat in Copenhagen in 2023. Aside from ascribing
importance to theory-practice consistency my partner is passionate about, and
deeply knowledgeable of, sustainability. A practitioner of voluntary simplicity
and extreme minimalism, she lived with no furniture and few belongings in her
previous home. Moving in together entailed changes for both of us, perhaps most
notably that I now live with far fewer belongings than previously, whereas she
lives surrounded by many more items. Moving out of my previous home and into the
new one, I gave away most of my belongings, not least clothes, books, CDs/DVDs/LPs,
knick-knacks, kitchen equipment and furniture. In our shared home we have a
table, some chairs, my guitar, a small chest I inherited from my grandparents,
a bench, a mattress and a bed used by my child from the previous relationship
when she stays with us. There are no paintings on the walls. No sofa or
armchairs. No TV. No bookshelves. No rugs on the floor. No bedframe. Few lamps.
No decorations beyond some beautiful stones we found on a beach and some sand
in a jar. According to my partner and some of the people who have visited us, our
place has a “yoga studio vibe” (I have never been in yoga studio, so it is not
an association I get).
On one hand, living this way feels like a compromise. Maybe I could be
called a minimalist, but I am no extreme minimalist. For sure, if I was living
by myself, I would have an armchair for reading, an additional lamp, a
bookshelf, an audio system and a painting or two on the walls. This would make
it a more “hyggeligt” (cosy) and comfortable space for me to live in. On the
other hand, it doesn’t affect my wellbeing negatively to live the way we do.
Although I lived differently before my partner and I moved in together, I have
never been very attached to material things. In our kitchen we have some items
I inherited from my grandparents (plates and cups) and others that my mother
gave me (cutlery) that I like because they remind me of those people, of
moments I shared with them and of being part of a generation in a family line.
But it would not cause deep sadness in me if those belongings were no longer in
my possession. When I donated most of the things I owned (many of them I gave
to a charity shop, many others I placed in a “byttestation” – a swap station – free
for others to take) my partner asked me if I felt “liberated”. Her being an
extreme minimalist, I think that’s what she would have felt in my shoes. I
didn’t feel liberated, but also, I didn’t feel any regret about owning far
fewer items than previously, including inherited items with a long history. The
best word I can think of to describe how I felt, and still feel, about it is
“neutral”. It wasn’t difficult for me to give up on those things, and I don’t
think I will come to miss any of them; but also giving them away has not
improved my sense of wellbeing. What has improved my wellbeing is being in a
relationship and living together with the person I love. This is far more
important in relation to wellbeing than any material belongings.
I remember from my childhood that my father would wear a “uniform”
consisting of dark blue jeans and a dark blue shirt. When it was cold he would
at times wear a dark blue fisherman’s sweater. In recent years I have started
wearing a uniform myself, wearing the same clothes for all occasions. Every day,
all year round I wear a white t-shirt. During autumn and winter I wear
dark jeans every day. During summer, a pair of shorts. All my underpants are
identical. I have one type of black socks and one type of light socks. I wear the
same type of barefoot shoes all year round, black ones during autumn and
winter, light ones during spring and summer. In addition, I have two
sweatshirts, two sweaters and a couple of cotton shirts. All the aforementioned
clothes (aside from the shirts which were bought quite a few years ago) are
made from organic materials, the bulk of it being organic cotton. Because I wear
identical clothing items day in and day out, I seek to buy them in large
quantities: I have a stock of t-shirts, shoes, socks, and jeans so that I can
replace an item when it wears out without having to enter a shop or purchase it
online. My partner often wears my t-shirts and sweaters, which I really appreciate.
As for outerwear, I have two jackets: a shell jacket and a hoodie jacket to
wear underneath it. Moreover, I own a pair of waterproof pants, a rain poncho, some
pairs of gloves, some beanies and some woollen socks.
I wear a uniform for various reasons: 1) It is easy. I spend very little
time thinking about what goes together with what. I have deliberately ensured
that, in terms of colour and style, my clothing items can generally be combined
and look just fine together. 2) It is more sustainable than having a lot of
clothing (and continuously buying new items), much of which I would not wear
because of not loving it as much as initially expected or because it turned out
not to go well together with other clothing items in my wardrobe. 3) It sends a
signal to others that it is not necessary to dress formally or wear different clothes
every day. I could be wrong here, but I don’t think anyone looks at me in the
street and thinks “what a slob”. I look casual and hope that, in a small way,
it inspires my surroundings to do the same. 4) Wearing a uniform means wearing
the same clothes when at work as I do in private. I feel that it makes me come
across as far more approachable, not least to those who are formally below me
in the university hierarchy, than if I wore a suit with a tie. Earlier this
semester I gave lectures wearing shorts and a t-shirt. The other day I turned
up for a meeting with my manager wearing a t-shirt rather than a shirt. Neither
he, nor the students seemed bothered by what I was wearing. I think we often tell
ourselves stories about the need to look this or that way in specific settings,
including the need to look professional in professional settings. So far, my
experience is that it feels emancipating to have freed myself from dressing for
the occasion.
My partner and I seek to practise a sustainable lifestyle in ways other
than those already mentioned. We cook quite simple food such as salads, pasta
with vegetables, wraps with falafels and mashed potatoes with veggie sausages,
using organic foods to the extent possible. We buy most food in a cooperative
supermarket and bakeries as well as, occasionally, a fish shop and a food
market. Under the influence of my partner, I have come to prioritise buying
vegetables and fruits that are not wrapped in plastic. Certainly, this is not
always possible. Often, we are confronted with difficult choices, such as buying
non-organic food that is not wrapped in plastic versus organic food that is. Or
local food wrapped in plastic versus food produced in other countries that
isn’t. We dream of having a garden one day or some land where we can grow food.
We have bought big containers with natural dishwashing liquid and liquid
hand soap as well as some large bags of bicarb soda to use for cleaning, so as
to minimise consumption of environmentally harmful substances and packaging. We
use jars that originally contained honey, pickled cucumbers and paste sauce as drinking
glasses and vases. We abstain from going on vacation in distant locations and
we have yet to go somewhere together by flight. We don’t have any
energy-intensive hobbies and overall don’t pack our leisure time with many
activities. I play guitar, we sometimes cook together or do puzzles, we write papers
together and regularly watch a film or some TV programme on my laptop. Other
than that, we go for long walks in Copenhagen to connect with our surroundings
and engage in conversations about both deep and not-so-deep topics. In other
words, the leisure activities we engage in cause little harm to the environment.
These days both of us find much joy in reading Seneca’s letters on ethics. I
find that reading and contemplating philosophy is important to personal
betterment; and continuous personal betterment is in turn essential to remaining
on a path of living increasingly sustainably.
