You can just do things!

A long-expected party

The Ecosophian community is an informal collection of people who follow the books and blogs of John Michael Greer. There is no formal organization; nobody collects dues, or organizes formal events, or publishes meeting minutes. But if you check out either of his blogs—Ecosophia, or Toward Ecosophy—you'll find many of the same people commenting over and over. And of course there are plenty of people (I'm one of them) who rarely comment or post, but who read the materials regularly.

For a few years now, there has been a social gathering of ecosophians in Providence, Rhode Island, on or around the summer solstice.In the past, this gathering generally took the form of a big potluck. I remember seeing the announcements and thinking, "Gosh, wouldn't that be fun!" Of course I never went, because I don't live anywhere near to Providence. There was no simple or easy way to pop over and bring a contribution to the feast, so I didn't think about it beyond that.

You can just do things.

Last year, Greer traveled to Glastonbury, England, in early June. He announced his plans the previous November, and in the end his visit turned into a kind of impromptu convention. People gave talks and workshops. There were (by all accounts) good food, good beer, and good conversation. Of course it sounded like a delightful time in the run-up before it happened; and it sounded even better afterwards. But I'm an American, after all. Glastonbury is a long ways away. I toyed with the idea of going there, but I didn't take it very seriously. So in the end I stayed home, and read about it after the fact.

You can just do things.

Then after the 2025 potluck, the man who regularly organizes the events in Providence proposed that "next year" (meaning 2026) he wanted to change it up a bit. Why not hold a convention in Providence, just like the one in Glastonbury? Surely we have people on this continent who would like to give talks on some ecosophian-related topic? Or workshops? It can't be that hard. So he put out an announcement in July of 2025, for the following year, to get people's attention and start them thinking.

You can just do things.

Months went by, and there was no further word about it. No build-up, no hype, not even any visible follow-up. But at the same time I kept thinking about it. Of course I usually don't venture far outside the little bubble of my routine. When I do, it's with somebody else. Back in 2014, I went to Peru with Son2. (See here and here.) In 2016, I flew to meet Marie's family for the first time. In 2017, Marie and I went to Greece. In 2019, we went to New Zealand. In 2023, I hiked the West Highland Way with Debbie, and later took Marie to Paris. In 2025, I spent several weeks living with my friend Schmidt while his mother was dying, to help look after her. On the other hand, in 2024 I turned down an exciting job offer, partly because it would have required me to move. So it wasn't easy to imagine myself breaking out of this rut.

You can just do things.

Also, realistically, what would I talk about? The only subject I can think of where I acknowledge myself something of an expert is the professional work I've done for years, most of which is pretty far-removed from any of the concerns of the ecosophian community. Sure, I could offer to give a talk. But I would bore the pants off everyone there, and they'd make sure not to invite me back. Why go out of my way to inflict such a mismatch of interest and offering on the other attendees?

You can just do things.

Finally in late spring—awfully late, it seemed to me, to plan such long-distance travel—the organizer came out of seclusion to post a sign-up list. I asked about my proposed topic. He said all he cared about was getting people on the list, and ecosophians are a diverse bunch anyway so sure—hell, why not? I made travel plans, and hotel reservations. I started writing my talk. It looked like the trip was going to come together after all.

You can just do things.

Getting there

So far as possible, I planned this trip as meticulously as I would have planned any travel for work. Then, starting the day of departure, nothing went according to plan. Never mind all the details: they would make a whole post by themselves, and it would be grim reading. Nobody wants to read a post like that. Suffice it to say, it was awful. I ended up stranded by a thunderstorm hundred of miles from my destination, stuffed into a hotel room well past midnight because no planes could take off in that weather. Many times, while I was sitting in the airport waiting for word from the airline about what was coming next—Could the flight take off? Would they comp a hotel room? Or was I just screwed?—I fantasized about giving up. Maybe if I just turned around and went home, the storm would magically lift. Maybe this was as close as I was ever going to get. Maybe it just wasn't worth it after all. Why in heaven's name was I going to all this trouble, when no one ever even asked me to—no boss, no family member, no girlfriend? What was the point?

You can just do things.

I hung onto that thought. I called ahead to my hotel to say I was on my way—and then called ahead again when it was clear I wouldn't get there that night after all. I emailed the event organizer that I was going to miss the first day; but fortunately my talk had been scheduled for the second. The next morning the storm had passed. There was other stuff going on, but I got to Providence before sundown.

You can just do things.

Being there

The event itself was a lot of fun. We had a few talks, including mine. Nobody was bored. Everyone had interesting things to say. The conversation rolled on in a freewheeling way for eight hours. Then we adjourned to a local restaurant for dinner, where we talked for another couple hours before finally winding down. I was thrilled to meet Greer in person, and his conversation was just as intelligent and charming as I've found it to be on any of the podcasts I've listened to.

The next morning, someone brought some specialty local gin. I used some of mine to pour out a libation for smoother travel going home. And we talked some more. We all agreed to do something like this again in 2027, maybe with a few changes here and there. And then we went our separate ways.

Coming home again

The return trip was long, but comparatively uneventful. The powers responsible for my trip appear to have accepted the libation. There were delays, but nothing bad enough to disrupt the detailed plans that I was following. I got home the same day I expected to get home, just a couple hours later than anticipated. But that's a small price to pay in the context of long-distance travel.

Am I going to do it again next year? Well, let's see. But it's very likely. This was so much fun—I mean, except for the travel—that I really want to do it again. And now I have convinced myself that it is possible.

After all, you can just do things!