Borrowing from our children

Since I first learned of this concept — one rooted in Indigenous wisdom — as a young college student, it embedded itself in my bones. The teaching goes something like this: we do not own the Earth; we are merely borrowing it from our children.

This is not a new idea. It is a deeply ancient one, echoed across time and place by the original peoples of many lands — Indigenous cultures who have long lived by a model of stewardship, reciprocity, and reverence. Their guiding principle: act today with the next seven generations in mind. Every decision — whether planting, harvesting, hunting, or building — is made with future kin and a living Earth in heart.

I am not Indigenous to this land I now stand on. I am not a descendant of the original peoples of what we now call the United States — this land once known as Turtle Island. But I aim to listen deeply to those who are. I seek to honor and learn from their teachings, not as a performance of allyship, but as a practice of reorientation — from extraction to gratitude, from domination to kinship.

From an early point in my scientific and spiritual journey, I have felt the tension between many human systems and the Earth. As a marine scientist and sailor, it is impossible not to see it: the overuse, the urgency, the disconnection. Our modern world consumes resources at a pace that betrays the future.

This awareness became the seed for VG — our eco-tour sailing vessel and floating classroom, born from a decade of studying and protecting the waters of Tampa Bay. Here, I learned that the language of change must include the language of business — but that doesn’t mean it can’t be spoken with heart. Our dream is to create a vessel not just for experiences, but for transformation. A place for knowledge sharing, paradigm shifting, and the kind of quiet awe that invites people back into relationship with the sea.

I reject the idea that humanity is a disease on the planet. I believe the true illness lies in the disconnection — a severing from our original roles as caretakers, as collaborators. The idea that humans must dominate nature is a recent one in our evolutionary story. For most of our existence, we survived by forming relationships — with each other, with plants, with animals, with the seasons. Braiding Sweetgrass reminds us that “all flourishing is mutual.” We thrive not by taking, but by giving back.

My own roots stretch six generations into the Tampa Bay area. One ancestor came here in search of healing from illness, drawn by the sun. Another was a park ranger. One helped construct the tower at the Apollo Beach Power Plant. Many were military men. Still others — my Irish ancestors — fled colonization and famine, products of imperial greed. I think about all of them often. I try to weave together a story of how their hopes and hardships shaped the world I now live in.

There was once a pervasive belief that the Earth existed to serve us — a belief that justified conquest, slavery, industrialization, and erasure. That belief shaped how my ancestors interacted not only with the planet, but with its original stewards. But I also believe they loved the same things I do: sunrise on saltwater, the cry of shorebirds, the sweet breath of honeysuckle in bloom. I believe they too held wonder. We humans contain multitudes.

So I take responsibility — not just guilt or grief — but a commitment to walk a different path. One that honors both their stories and the future unfolding before us.

I am not perfect. I am still learning, always. But we are living through a time when the truths are glaring. The genocidal violence and starvation in Gaza — carried out by a settler colonial state — continues before our eyes. Our climate is unraveling with floods and fires and storms that no longer feel like anomalies, but the new normal. We cannot claim ignorance. And we cannot look away.

There is no going back. But there is another way forward.

We can change course. Like a sailboat turning with the wind — not through brute force, but by listening, by adjusting, by allowing ancient wisdom and the laws of nature to steer us.

We are borrowing this Earth from our future. Let us return it with love, not regret.