Miss Hottest September Ever
<p>I<strong>suppose many of us</strong> are going through the same kind of existential angst I am when I think about climate change. On the one hand, I have a granddaughter who graduates High School this year and I can remember how large the world was for me at that age — the opportunities, the possible futures, young love, the sheer exuberance of living. It is the best of times.</p>
<p>But then I swing back to a very dark secret — something one can’t bring up in polite company. It was the first thought I had when my son told me they were expecting a baby. What will her life be like, I wondered, in 2040, 2060, and 2090? She will reach my present age in 2082, assuming she can survive what I know is coming. Her world will not look like the General Motors Futurama of the <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Futurama_(New_York_World%27s_Fair)" rel="noopener ugc nofollow" target="_blank">1939 World’s Fair</a>, with fully autonomous cars, vertical farms for artificially produced crops, and rooftop platforms on which to park personal flying machines or land your jet pack.</p>
<p><a href="https://cooldesign.medium.com/miss-hottest-september-ever-b9d73fe615cf"><strong>Read More</strong></a></p>