Josh: Okay, quick show of hands… how many of you have rated something recently? Five stars for a show, maybe a scathing one-star review for that airline that lost your luggage? Well, today we're taking it up a notch. Imagine rating “life” itself. Sunsets, global pandemics, even that questionable soda in your fridge. Drew: Right, because what better way to capture the human condition in the 21st century than to slap a star rating on both the majesty of a comet and the chaos of a NASCAR race? But hey, if John Green can do it with The Anthropocene Reviewed, why can't we jump on the bandwagon? Josh: Exactly! The Anthropocene Reviewed is this incredible collection of essays where John Green rates everything from the mundane to the monumental. It's history, it's science, it's philosophy, and it's incredibly heartfelt. He shares his own vulnerabilities to celebrate the imperfections of humanity and the world we've created. Drew: Alright, so what’s the plan today? First, we're diving into how our most vulnerable moments, whether personal or societal, can actually connect us in really profound and unexpected ways. Josh: Then we're tackling some of the bigger, tougher questions. Like, what's humanity's actual impact on the planet, and are we ultimately doing more harm than good? Drew: And finally, we'll explore the resilience and hope that can emerge when we actually take the time to “see” the beauty in the everyday – things like a sunset or even, dare I say, scratch-and-sniff stickers. Josh: So stay with us. We’re going to unpack this amazing ode to the chaos, the wonder, and, yes, the absurdity of being human.

Josh: Okay, so let's jump into what feels like the heart of Green's essays: human connection and, you know, vulnerability. It's amazing how he starts with his personal experience—recovering from labyrinthitis—and links it to the collective experience of the pandemic. That feeling of being cut off, but still connected – it really captures both isolation and interdependence, doesn't it? Drew: Absolutely. Green basically takes his individual experience of being trapped in his own body and kind of blows it up to a societal level. The way he describes the pandemic forcing everyone into isolation, like a collective bout of labyrinthitis, it’s... well, is that a comforting thought or just depressing? Josh: I find it comforting, actually. His point is that even isolated, connection didn't just vanish. It just evolved. Think about how many people started having open, honest conversations about their mental health for the first time during the pandemic. That shift – people reaching out, admitting they were struggling – is exactly what Green talks about: vulnerability as a gateway to deeper connection. Drew: True, but doesn’t it also point out how poorly equipped we are to deal with vulnerability in the first place? It literally took a global crisis for us to start talking about things like loneliness or anxiety without just slapping on a "stay positive" platitude. But yeah, Green's right – the pandemic really changed the nature of our conversations. What used to feel taboo just became... universal. Josh: Exactly. Vulnerability became a shared experience. And he captures it so beautifully when he talks about how "small" actions, like those pandemic-era Zoom calls or even wearing masks, carried so much weight. It’s such a subtle, yet profound point: wearing a mask wasn't just about protecting yourself, but about showing you value others, right? Drew: Right, right. And the way he reframes mask-wearing is insightful. Instead of making it political, like everyone else did, he steps back and sees it as a symbol of human interconnectedness. Each mask, he argues, was a statement: "Hey, I see you, I care about you." It’s kind of wild that something so simple could mean so much. Josh: That's where Green's genius lies, I think: taking ordinary things and showing the extraordinary layers beneath the surface. He uses mask-wearing to illustrate this broader idea of participating in our shared humanity. It’s a quiet act of solidarity, like checking in on neighbors or supporting local businesses during the pandemic. These small choices showed how connected we are, even when physically apart. Drew: But, I mean, we're not exactly wired for that kind of selflessness, are we? It's ironic—humans are deeply interconnected, yet we're also experts at building walls, avoiding vulnerability, or pretending we can "go it alone." That's really where Green shines, especially when he talks about his struggles with OCD and how being open about it changed how he connects with others. Josh: Yes! His honesty about mental health is so powerful. I mean, for years, he told his story through characters in his books. But then, in these essays, he showed himself – his anxieties, his illness, his humanity. That shift is so important, because I think it gave readers permission to be vulnerable, too. Drew: It's like he took away the safety net, right? With fiction, you can hide behind characters, plots, metaphors. But essays? You're exposed, especially when you're writing about something as personal as your health. It kinda makes you wonder: how much of our reluctance to be vulnerable comes from trying to project a certain image? Are we just putting up a curated front to avoid dealing with what's really going on underneath? Josh: Precisely! And Green's choice to drop that front in his writing is an invitation – not just to his readers, but to society as a whole – to rethink vulnerability in our lives. By being raw and honest, he shows that authenticity isn't a weakness, but a strength that builds deeper connections. He even links it back to resilience. He sees surviving hardship not as putting up walls, but as breaking them down and finding community in shared struggles. Drew: Hmm... Resilience through shared experience – that resonates. And it's not some sugar-coated "everything happens for a reason" junk. Green's clear that life can be random and cruel. The chaos of a pandemic, for example, doesn't make sense. But what does make sense is how people clung to each other – to conversation, to art, to laughter – even when the world felt like it was spinning out of control. Josh: Which is why I keep coming back to this idea of connection through vulnerability. Green reminds us that these small, human moments – a Zoom call, wearing a mask, talking about mental health – weave a tapestry of resilience. It’s messy, imperfect, and full of holes, but it's what holds us together when things fall apart. Drew: Alright, alright, I'll give Green credit here – he's onto something with this idea that vulnerability isn't just a personal thing; it's communal. Like an energy loop – you open up, others do the same, and suddenly you've got this network of support. Josh: And that network – whether it's two people or an entire community – is where real strength comes from. Green's essays remind us that we don't need all the answers or to “tough” it out alone. We grow stronger by letting other people see us, even – especially – in our most vulnerable moments.

Josh: Which brings us to the Anthropocene. It really does flow from the previous topic, doesn't it? It’s not just about our own relationships, but about our impact on the whole planet. It's like we're moving from looking at what makes us personally vulnerable to realizing we're all in this together, and even the little things we do have a global impact. Drew: Yeah, it's a shift from personal to, like, universal responsibility. So, we are the Anthropocene, right? Josh: Exactly. It’s not just a scientific term; it's an existential one. Green's essays force us to acknowledge that humans are fundamentally changing the planet. We're altering ecosystems, changing the climate, everything. And, as Green points out, we're both the problem “and” the potential solution. Drew: Okay, so we're the cause and, hopefully, the cure. Got it. But seriously, when Green talks about the Anthropocene, he's really laying out how much we’re messing things up, right? Rising sea levels, deforestation, species disappearing... It’s like we’re giving the Earth a terrible review! Josh: Sadly, yes. Biodiversity loss is one of the clearest examples of our destructive tendencies. Species are becoming extinct way faster than they used to, all because of what we're doing – cutting down forests, polluting, destroying habitats, and changing the climate. And the Amazon rainforest, you know, the Earth's lungs, that's especially concerning. Its depletion affects all of us. Drew: So, if I'm following you, we’re chopping down the Amazon to grow stuff to feed cows so we can make burgers? It is the most mind-blowing thing when you break it down. Are we really just awful guests at nature's party? Josh: It's a fair analogy. And Green isn't just saying, "Look at the damage." He wants us to understand “how” interconnected everything is. Cutting down a tree in the Amazon affects everything from carbon absorption to the lives of countless species. It all comes back to our responsibility as inhabitants of this planet. Drew: But what about the good stuff? Because Green doesn’t just do full-on doom and gloom, does he? He talks about how humans have this crazy ability to screw things up “and” this incredible capacity to come up with brilliant ideas. Solar and wind power, those are becoming real alternatives to fossil fuels, right? That’s the optimistic side of humanity. Josh: Exactly, Drew. Green contrasts our destructive side with our capacity to innovate and find balance. The rise of renewable energy innovations over the last twenty years shows that when we agree to act, change is possible. But it has to be intentional, and we all have to participate. Drew: It’s like he connects this whole transformation to resilience, yeah? It’s not just reacting to disasters; it’s learning from them. Think about the pandemic. People made sacrifices – masks, distancing, vaccines. Small actions became something big. So, he’s asking; can’t we use that same mindset to tackle climate change? Josh: Exactly. The pandemic showed we can act collectively when it matters. Green uses that lesson to push for environmental resilience. We’re already seeing global reforestation efforts and countries committing to net-zero carbon. It’s not perfect, but it’s a start. Drew: But it all feels so fragile, doesn’t it? We tend to choose what feels good now over what’s sustainable in the long run. Remember that photo of “Young Farmers” in his essay? Those three guys, dressed up for a dance right before World War I – it’s this perfect picture of humanity just blindly trusting that everything will be fine, even when disaster is right around the corner. Josh: That photograph captures so much about the Anthropocene, doesn't it? Those men represent humanity moving forward, chasing dreams, often without thinking about the cost. It's bittersweet, really, that tension between optimism and ignorance. Drew: And it makes you wonder, what are we leaving behind? Green says we’re always writing history for future generations. Do we want to be known as the generation that wrecked everything? Or the one that turned it around at the last minute? Josh: That's really the question, isn't it? What legacy are we building? Green's reflections on "Young Farmers" remind us that history isn’t just something in the past. It’s connected to everything we do now. Like those young men heading to war, we're shaping the world with our choices, for better or worse. Drew: But Green throws in this interesting point, that it's not just about big policies or grand gestures either. The Anthropocene is also shaped by the little things – recycling, using less plastic, biking or using public transport. He's saying these small things add up, right? Josh: Exactly! Green reinforces that every choice creates a ripple effect. Like the pandemic actions—your individual contribution feels small, but when millions of people make similar choices, the overall impact is huge. Drew: So, in a weird way, the Anthropocene isn’t only bad news. It’s a test, right? Can we learn to stop thinking only about ourselves and start thinking about future generations? Josh: And it’s not all bad. Green emphasizes that this era also has potential. We're aware of our impact, and we're developing ways to adapt and reduce harm, that's a reason to be hopeful. But it starts with everyone being humble and getting involved. Drew: So, are we doomed, or is there hope? If Green’s right, it’s both. Humanity kind of has a mixed track record, some good, some bad, but we do have the ability to care. Josh: It’s definitely a call to action. Green wants us to face this reality and choose to build a future of regeneration and repair instead of destruction. To be good ancestors, to think beyond ourselves, and leave something meaningful for the future.

Josh: So, from that broader view, we naturally move into how wonder and struggle actually play out in our daily lives, where, you know, beauty and hardship are always bumping up against each other. Which really gets to the core of Green's essays: finding that resilience and meaning, not by, you know, bulldozing over the struggles, but by noticing the wonder that's woven right into them. Drew: Exactly, and that's really where Green excels: navigating those delicate dualities of life, the moments where beauty and fragility are so intertwined. He often uses art and nature as reminders that even these briefest moments of joy can hold such deep, profound meaning. Sunsets, right? He talks about sunsets—that perfect balance between their fleeting nature and this immense awe they inspire. Drew: Yeah, sunsets are nice, but let's be real, aren't they the go-to for romanticizing stuff? "Oh, pretty sky, time for a poem." What makes Green's perspective on them any different? Josh: It's the depth he adds, right? How he connects their fleeting beauty directly to the human experience. He quotes Anna Akhmatova, who sees sunsets as this unique blend of awe, but also vulnerability. Green builds on that, suggesting that sunsets are gentle reminders of time passing – not in a scary way, but in a way that encourages us to really appreciate what we have while we have it. It's not just passively admiring the view; it's actively acknowledging that things don't last forever, and finding gratitude within that. Drew: So, essentially, sunsets are nature giving us a little existential nudge. I get it. But, calling them "finite"—is that giving them too much credit? I mean, the sun's going to keep doing its sunset thing for quite a while. Josh: You're right, it's less about the cosmic event of a sunset, and more about our personal experience of it. Each sunset we see is unique to that exact moment, that place, that specific dance of light and shadow. Green argues it's in these tiny, fleeting moments where we find the essence of being human. They teach us that beauty and mortality aren't opposites – they're part of the same package, and it's in embracing that package that we find meaning. Drew: Okay, I'll concede that. It's a pretty solid argument for slowing down and paying attention, even if it's just to the sky changing color. But he doesn't stop at sunsets, does he? What about bringing in something more concrete, like history? How does he tie these ideas of wonder and resilience into, say, a photograph? Josh: A great example is Green's essay on August Sander's photograph "Young Farmers." Initially, it just looks like three young men in suits, on their way to a dance. But when you consider the context—Germany, 1914, right before World War I—it gains a whole new layer. Drew: Exactly, yeah, those guys aren't just going to a dance; they're walking towards a future they can't even imagine, full of trenches and loss. That's a photo that speaks volumes – that unspoken weight of historical inevitability. Josh: Right. Green uses this photo to explore how fragility and hope coexist. He wonders about their dreams, their futures, and how the war likely shattered them. Yet, despite that looming tragedy, the image still radiates vitality. Sander captured them at a turning point—right on the brink of momentous change. It's a stark reminder that history isn't just dates and events; it's deeply personal. Drew: What “really” grabs me is how Green puts us in their shoes – or boots, I suppose. He makes you wonder: if we were standing in their place, knowing what was about to happen, would we still walk forward with that same optimism? Or would we crumble under the weight of history? Josh: That's precisely the kind of reflection he's aiming for. Green uses their story to argue for resilience in our own lives. History is always unfolding, and like those young farmers, we are constantly making choices without fully knowing the consequences. But rather than getting completely overwhelmed by that uncertainty, Green suggests we draw strength from it. By remembering that even ordinary moments hold layers of meaning. Drew: So that photo isn't just about them; it's about us. How we navigate life's unknowns with courage, even when the future feels uncertain. Let's switch gears a bit from history to something more... dynamic. I mean, Green even finds poetry in the chaos of a penalty shootout! Josh: Ah, yes—Jerzy Dudek in the Champions League Final. Honestly, this story shows resilience as sheer perseverance. For anyone who doesn't know, Dudek was Liverpool's goalkeeper, and his performance in the 2005 final was, well, miraculous. His saves during the penalty shootout turned what looked like inevitable defeat into an unforgettable victory. Drew: Miracle or madness, depending on who you ask. But I see why Green uses it. Dudek's story isn't just about athletic talent; it's about life's sheer unpredictability. One minute, you're facing defeat, and the next, you're a hero, a football legend. Josh: Exactly. Green isn't just celebrating Dudek's skill; he's exploring the mental strength it took to stay calm in that incredibly high-pressure situation. It's that same theme again – resilience isn't about avoiding hardship but about enduring and rising above it. Dudek's journey from a coal miner's son to an international football star “really” mirrors that human experience of pushing through difficulty. Drew: It's a classic underdog story, for sure. But I think what makes it special is Green's focus on collective emotion. Dudek's victory wasn't just his – it was a shared moment of joy for millions of fans. All that energy, all that joy – does he argue that's part of resilience too? Josh: Absolutely. Green emphasizes how shared experiences, like sports victories, or even artistic endeavors, create a sort of communal resilience. We draw strength not only from our own efforts, but from the connections we build through these shared moments. It's why many people see sports as more than just a game – it's a metaphor for the human spirit. Drew: And speaking of art and resilience, Green's essay on Hiroyuki Doi's circle drawings takes the emotional intensity up another notch. Doi's grief over his brother's death inspired years of this meditative, complicated artwork. Thousands of hand-drawn circles—chaotic, yet deliberate. Josh: Those circles are truly incredible. Green describes them as a visual representation of the complexity of grief. There's no resolution, no clean ending—just layers and layers of emotion. Doi's work becomes a way of processing loss and finding meaning within it, yeah? Drew: It's grief as art therapy, but on a grand scale. Each circle feels like an acknowledgment of the pain, certainly, but also a step toward healing. Green mentions that the act of creating—of doing something, even if it’s small—can be profoundly cathartic. Josh: And that's what makes Doi's circles so universally relatable. They reflect the messy, nonlinear path of resilience. Green shows us that resilience isn't a destination, it's a process. It's about learning to live alongside loss, rather than trying to completely “move past” it. Drew: So whether it's sunsets, farmers, goalkeepers, or circles, Green's argument always circles back to the same idea: life's beauty isn't reduced by its hardships. If anything, it gets even richer. Josh: Exactly. By finding wonder in the fleeting moments, in the everyday, we tap into a spring of resilience. Through nature, history, sports, art, Green shows us that meaning isn't something we're given, it's something we're actively creating for ourselves.

Josh: Okay, so, to bring it all together, we've really delved into how John Green, in “The Anthropocene Reviewed”, beautifully balances the good and, well, not-so-good aspects of humanity . I mean, our capacity for creativity, deep connection, and sheer resilience, even when faced with our own destructive tendencies, it’s all there . He really bridges the gap between personal vulnerabilities and the huge consequences of the Anthropocene, reminding us that individual and collective actions shape our lives and the world we leave behind . Drew: Right . And it’s not just about recognizing it, is it ? It's about what we “do” with that recognition . Josh: Exactly ! At its core, Green's work is a call to pay attention . You know, to those fleeting moments of joy, to actually connecting with each other, and to understanding the impact we have on the world . He's inviting us to embrace the messiness of being human, to find beauty even in the impermanence of life, and to really take responsibility for the stories we're crafting, both on personal and global scales . Drew: So, Josh, what's the takeaway then ? What’s our “so what?” moment here ? Is it just more mindfulness ? Josh: I think it's more than just mindfulness . It’s about action . It's about deciding to be more honest about the struggles we're facing, making more deliberate choices, and being more open to finding wonder in those small, fleeting moments . Drew: It all sounds wonderfully optimistic, but is it actually sustainable in the long run ? I mean, life throws curveballs . Josh: Definitely ! But as Green shows us, resilience isn't about avoiding the hardships of life; it's about finding meaning “within” them . Life, with all its imperfections and those stunning sunsets, is basically a five-star experience . <Laughs> Or, okay, maybe four and a half, if we’re being a little humble about it . Drew: Four point seven . Always leave room for improvement, Josh . Always .