I’m flying over an ocean, in the semi-dark of a plane, in an in-between time zone that feels like 3am for several hours until suddenly the breakfast tray wakes everyone up with a start.
I peer over the shoulder of the boy in front of me at the flight map. Are we there yet? Are we even close? My eyes are still blinking, adjusting to the light, when I see from the screen that we’re flying past Easter Island.
Despite my sleep deprivation, the irony of the situation is enough to trigger some deep thoughts.
I’m hurtling towards the biggest international conference in two decades on sustainable development – in other words, how to ensure civilization’s survival into the future. And I’m flying past an island whose sombre statues serve as a monumental warning that there’s no guarantee we’ll succeed.