You know that scene at the end of Planet of the Apes where the protagonist escapes his Simian captors and stumbles upon the half-buried Statue of Liberty, realizing he’s not on an alien planet but a post-apocalyptic Earth? I have my own mental version of that image. Except instead of the Statue of Liberty, it’s the “Hell is Real” sign on I-71 between Columbus and Cincinnati, half-buried and rusting in a cornfield. Turns out, the real apocalypse wasn’t an alien invasion. It was the choices we made along the way.

All things considered, Ohio’s not a bad place to wait out the collapse of civilization. California is burning, Florida is sinking, and here we are, surrounded by soybeans and tornado sirens, feeling smug about how “safe” it all feels.

Or maybe smug isn’t the right word. What’s the word for feeling hopeless and hopeful at the same time?

We’re well past the point of mitigating the worst effects of climate change. This isn’t breaking news, and I’m not the first person to say it. The ongoing fires in California’s wealthiest neighborhoods - and the fact that these areas are now effectively uninsurable - should tell you everything you need to know. Climate change is no longer “their problem” or an issue for “those poor communities over there.” It’s all of us, packed onto the same sinking ship. And spoiler alert: nobody brought enough lifeboats.

So instead of asking, “Can we stop this?” (plenty of people are working on that and making real progress), I want to ask a different question: Who gets the lifeboats? How do we live with the reality of climate change while building a future that doesn’t leave people clinging to a soggy doorframe, waiting for help that never comes?

Quick sidebar: who in my age group hasn’t had the following conversation with friends? “If we all chip in and buy some land, we can build a bunch of houses near each other! Let’s pick a spot in (insert wooded location of choice here) and never have to live apart!” It’s a common fantasy - one that some people are chasing, but most of us are scrolling Zillow from our desk chairs while eating leftover Chinese. No shame. I’m in the second camp, too.

This dream of retreating to a simpler life isn’t some Gen-Z cop-out or proof that millennials don’t want to work. It’s a reaction to the endless anxieties and terrors of the 21st century. Who wouldn’t want to tap out of the chaos and build a self-sufficient haven in the woods? Especially when the power grid might fail, or governments might collapse. The next time you see a TikTok trad-mom teaching you how to can vegetables, you might want to stop swiping and start taking notes.

Now back to the point: the first step in answering my question is diagnosing what a lifeboat even looks like in this very real, very scary reality. We use the metaphor - one that isn’t really a metaphor - of rising sea levels to illustrate the challenges of climate change. But only some communities will experience literal sea level rise. The middle of America, along with other landlocked regions, will face climate change in very different ways.

And no, those ways won’t be any more pleasant. They’ll look like this:

• Unpredictable Temperature Extremes: Months swinging between unseasonably hot and bitterly cold, disrupting crop yields and sending electricity bills soaring. Urban areas, with limited green space, will suffer from the urban heat island effect, amplifying the heat even further.

• Flooding and Droughts: Record-breaking rainfall will flood residential, commercial, and rural areas, destroying aging infrastructure that’s costly and slow to replace. Meanwhile, prolonged droughts will make water scarce, harm agriculture, and devastate ecosystems.

• Health Impacts: Expect a rise in vector-borne diseases like Lyme disease, as ticks and mosquitoes expand their range. Increased smoke, dust, and smog will worsen respiratory conditions. Add in the mental health toll from constant anxiety and uncertainty, and it’s not a pretty picture.

Losing your home to a flood or fire is one thing: it’s a devastating, acute event. But for the majority of people, climate change won’t arrive with a dramatic disaster. It’ll creep in through their wallets. Food, electricity, and rent have been skyrocketing in cost since 2020, and this pressure will only worsen. With no easy solutions or relief in sight, the real cost of climate change will be economic. A growing homeless population, squeezed out of society by the sheer cost of staying alive on a planet that doesn’t seem to want us here.

The most tangible effect of climate change for many won’t be drowning in water. It’ll be drowning in debt.

So what do we do for those people? Will they get a lifeboat against the rising costs of survival?

This, I believe, is the most pressing issue of the next fifty years. In this reality, a lifeboat isn’t a literal boat at all. It’s thoughtfully designed communities, well-resourced support systems, and local infrastructure capable of withstanding the extremes to come.

The best steps we can take are about reimagining how we live together. Over the past two centuries - since the Industrial Revolution and the rise of suburbia - we’ve shifted from interdependence to isolation. We live in a society that prizes independence but leaves most of us deeply dependent on fragile systems.

We need to move back toward an interdependent model, one where systems are designed to raise up and support the collective. This isn’t about Kumbaya or holding hands around a campfire. It’s about rethinking how we build cities to enhance connection, reduce waste, and minimize impact. And it’s about reinvesting in empathy, compassion, and shared responsibility.

And lest you claim I am advocating for a dream scenario without actionable strategies, I give you here my three favorite systems that promote interdependence. Take that, critics!

• Community Land Trusts: Community Land Trusts are one of my favorite tools for keeping housing affordable and neighborhoods stable. The idea is simple: the community-rooted non-profit owns the land, so the people living there aren’t at the mercy of a market that is being inflated by data centers and developers. Homes in a land trust stay perpetually affordable, not just for the first buyer, but for every family that comes after. It’s a way to protect neighborhoods from gentrification while giving people a real shot at stability and homeownership. CLTs are one of my favorite wealth building tools, and we’re lucky to have the Franklin County Community Land Trust building additional units all over our city.

• Microgrids: In my opinion, microgrids are the future for healthy and equitable communities. They’re localized, self-sufficient energy systems that keep the lights on even when the main grid goes down - a big deal when climate disasters hit or aging infrastructure fails. For underserved areas, microgrids offer a lifeline, providing reliable energy without the massive costs or spotty service that often come with traditional grids. Plus, they make clean energy - like solar, wind, and nuclear - accessible to more people, cutting costs and carbon footprints at the same time. Pun intended here: they also put power (literally) back in the hands of communities.

• Curbside Compost Programs: Food takes an incredible amount of energy to produce, and the last thing we should be doing is locking all that energy away in landfills where it rots uselessly. Composting is like a cheat code. You take what’s already been grown, return it to the soil, and supercharge your local farms or gardens. It’s carbon reduction with an immediate payoff: healthier soil, healthier food, and healthier communities. What’s not to love? It’s hot. It’s dirty. And it’s available near you (no one needs to know). Rough math: if every household in the Columbus metro area composted their food waste, it could offset approximately 300,000 metric tons of CO2-equivalent emissions per year. This is equivalent to removing about 65,000 cars from the road annually. It would improve our air quality, lower each person’s carbon footprint substantially, and return precious nutrients to our soils where they belong.

Every person - not just those who can afford it - deserves access to systems that promote their general welfare and allow them to build a stable, healthy life in the face of oncoming social, political and environmental upheaval. These systems will be costly, and while the ultra wealthy fly away to their private retreats and multi-million dollar shelters, the rest of us will be left to clean up this mess.

Climate change isn’t going away. The ship is still sinking. But we have time to rethink what the lifeboats look like - and who they’re for. Maybe, just maybe, we can build a fleet big enough to carry us all.