With Earth Day approaching later this month, I find myself looking forward to the #EarthDay posts that fill my social media feeds. My screen will soon be flooded with vivid shots of sparkling oceans, lush forests and small acts of care that feel like sparks of hope. But the truth is, these messages tend to appear just once a year, on April 22 — a single day meant to remind us to protect the planet we call home.
To me, Earth Day is bittersweet. On one hand, I love that we have a day carved out of each year to recognize the beauty of our planet. It’s powerful to see people collectively make efforts to care for the environment and share their appreciation through the media. On the other hand, I can’t help but question why we only dedicate 24 hours (less if you count the time we spend asleep) to caring for something that sustains our lives every single day. In reality, protecting and respecting Earth should be woven into everything we do year-round, especially as we witness the natural world’s rapid decline.
Right now, the greatest challenge we face as a global community is the climate crisis. And when we talk about it, the same reactions inevitably surface: a sense of overwhelm, hopelessness and despair. If we’re being honest, undoing most of the damage already done can feel impossible. But what if meaningful change didn’t have to start with something massive? What if it could begin with something as small, and as powerful, as the words we choose?
From a young age, children naturally show empathy toward plants and animals, even those that are often misunderstood, like snakes and spiders. I’m sure many of us remember classroom terrariums or moments spent observing nature up close. These early experiences shape how we assign value to the nonhuman world, and when we are young, we innately see the beauty in everything. Children often refer to plants and animals as “he,” “she,” or “who,” instinctively recognizing them as living beings. But somewhere along the way, children are corrected. They’re taught to replace those words with “it.”
That small shift in language may seem insignificant, but it ends up shaping our attitudes toward the nonhuman for the rest of our lives. The words we use mold how we think, and how we think affects how we act. When nature becomes an “it,” seeing it as something to use rather than something to respect becomes easier. But if we reintroduce personhood to our language, if we allow nature to be a “she” or a “who,” we may begin to treat it more gently.
Indigenous author Robin Wall Kimmerer, captures this idea perfectly: “If maple is an “it,” we can take up the chainsaw. If maple is ‘she,’ we have to think twice.” This Indigenous perspective of animacy in language reflects a deeper, more reciprocal relationship with the natural world, one rooted in respect, responsibility and connection. A single word can shift our entire worldview, and with it, our actions.
For me, that connection began at the ocean. Growing up by the water, I owe much of my perspective to my mother. Some of my earliest memories are of her teaching me to call the sea Mother Ocean. Not just a body of water, but a creator, a nurturing, powerful, feminine force. She taught me that the ocean could heal me physically, spiritually, mentally and emotionally. She showed me that it could offer lessons in resilience, strength and letting go of control. “Never turn your back on the waves,” my mother would say.
My father, through surfing, taught me how to read the rhythm of the sea, how to understand her movement and energy. Because of my parents, I’ve always felt a deep and transcendent connection to the ocean. That connection has shaped my life and my efforts to protect it, especially through my involvement with the Surfrider Foundation. I never visit the beach without trying to leave it better than I found it. The ocean has been a constant source of comfort for me, a kind of therapist, and I often feel more at home in the water than on land. Mother Ocean takes care of me, and I take care of her in return.
That is why I believe the language we use matters so much. Words like “mother” and “she” already exist in how we describe our planet, but they could be far more intentional and widespread. When we begin to view the Earth the way we view our mothers — as nurturing, giving, and deserving of care — we shift from taking to reciprocating.
Maybe Earth Day isn’t just about celebrating the planet. Maybe it’s about reflecting and redefining our relationship with the Earth itself. Because if we start to change the way we speak about Earth, we might just begin to change the way we treat her.
And maybe, that’s where real progress begins.