This is the story of how I wrote Look At It This Way.
For years, my daily commute took me across the St. Lawrence River and into a giant geodesic dome. As the Head of Science Education at Montréal’s Biosphère, I had the surreal pleasure of working inside a building designed with radical sustainability in mind—a vast space created with the fewest materials possible. Buckminster Fuller’s genius was all around me, and it set the tone for the work I did every day.
With a background in science education and atmospheric science, I thought my job would be simple: explain climate change clearly, answer questions, and help people understand the science. And for a while, that’s exactly what I did. Every day, I spoke with visitors from around the world—families on vacation, business leaders, actors filming in the city, students on field trips. I experimented constantly with how to present the topic: first the science, then the impacts, then the solutions.
But something wasn’t working.
During question periods, almost no one asked for more scientific detail. People did ask about impacts, but I could see the toll it took. Young adults walked away more anxious. Others shut down entirely, overwhelmed by doom. Some even joked about “living while we still can.” One wealthy visitor turned to his wife and said, “Let’s go see the Arctic ice on my yacht before it melts.”
That moment stuck with me. Not because it was callous, but because it revealed a truth I kept seeing: fear wasn’t motivating most people. It was paralyzing them.
And the data backed it up.
Two numbers haunted me: ⅔ of young adults experience eco-anxiety, and only ¼ of adults say they’re interested in climate solutions
I realized I was missing something, a key ingredient in climate communication.
Finding the Sweet Spot
For a while, I shifted my presentations almost entirely to solutions. Solar panels, heat pumps, regenerative agriculture, urban trees—all the things that could slash emissions and build resilience. The tone was positive, even uplifting. But sometimes it felt naïve. One participant finally asked what many were thinking: “Why should we change so many of our systems? Why this obsession over CO2?”
That question hit me hard. It made me realize that talking about solutions to reduce greenhouse gas emissions wasn’t enough. People needed to understand why climate change matters, but without being crushed by fear.
Research by John Cook and Stephan Lewandowsky helped me find the balance:
50% impacts + 50% solutions = the most empowering message.
But even that wasn’t the whole story. The missing ingredient revealed itself on an ordinary afternoon at the museum.
The Day Everything Clicked
I was explaining rooftop solar panels to a visitor. He wasn’t impressed. Too much hassle, he said. Too much work.
So I tried something different.
I said, “Look at it this way: solar panels give you electricity for far cheaper than the grid. And when the power goes out, your TV stays on and your fridge stays cold. Your food, and maybe your medicine, stay cool. If you use a CPAP machine, it keeps running. It’s not just climate-friendly, it’s peace of mind.”
His eyes lit up. Suddenly, solar wasn’t a sacrifice. It was a smart investment.
Later that day, I spoke with a woman about planting more trees in cities. She complained about raking leaves. Fair enough. But again, I shifted the frame.
“Look at it this way: trees cool neighborhoods by up to 8°C during heat waves. They reduce heat stroke, lower AC bills, clean the air so kids with asthma can breathe easier, and create community spaces that reduce anxiety, depression, and even crime.”
Her reaction was instant. She told me she’d bring it up with her neighbor, a city councilor.
That day changed everything for me.
I realized we weren’t going to solve climate change by explaining the science, describing the impacts, or even listing the solutions.
We were going to solve it by showing how climate solutions improve our health, our wealth, and our communities.
When people see the personal benefits, not just the environmental ones, they lean in. They get excited. They take action.
And I thought: Why isn’t this the dominant climate narrative? If young people heard this framing in school, eco-anxiety would melt away. If adults heard it from their cities, companies, and news sources, engagement would skyrocket.
I started using this approach everywhere, in museum presentations, articles, social media, talks, and conversations with policymakers.
And then, in December 2024, my wife looked at me with a knowing smile and said, “You’re due for a book.” As usual, she was right.
Writing the Book
The idea arrived almost instantly. I folded a piece of paper in half and wrote LOOK AT IT THIS WAY on both sides. On one side: Impacts. On the other: Solutions. That became the structure.
For three months, from January through March 2025, I wrote the manuscript. I played with the number of chapters and eventually settled on five themes that shape our daily lives: Health, Wealth, Food, Water, and Infrastructure.
Then I sent the draft to 20 reviewers. They caught mistakes, flagged confusing sections, and left comments that fueled me through revisions. Their feedback was encouraging:
“Easy to understand.”
“I’ll use this as a reference.”
“Perfect coffee table book.”
“A great way to tackle a difficult topic.”
“Very well researched.”
I integrated every suggestion I could. The book became sharper, clearer, and more accessible, exactly what I hoped it would be. It was finally published in December 2025.
Why I Wrote This Book
I wrote this book, LOOK AT IT THIS WAY, because I want to change the climate conversation. I want young people to feel less anxious. I want adults to feel more empowered. I want climate solutions to feel like opportunities, not sacrifices. I want people to dream about a future that’s healthier, wealthier, and more connected than the present.
Most of all, I want to give people a simple, hopeful phrase they can use when climate conversations get heavy: “Look at it this way…”
Because when we flip the narrative—when we show how climate solutions benefit our bodies, our wallets, and our communities—people don’t tune out. They lean in. They get curious. They get inspired.
And that’s how change begins.
