Everything you do is wrong

It isn’t a terrific state of affairs, but I should have been able to read about it, frown solemnly, then go on with my day. Instead, the story made me lose my mind. You see, I eat quite a lot of seabream and seabass, and have done so for a number of years. A while back, I decided I ought to live a more ethical life, and stopped buying meat to cook at home.

I still eat it when out of the house, but I felt it was a decent compromise. We all have to do our bit, and all that. It was a healthier lifestyle, sure, but mostly it made me feel good about myself. I really love eating both beef and chicken, meaning that making the switch was quite tough, but at least I was able to feel good and virtuous about my choice. The Guardian piece put an end to that smugness.

More than that, though, it made me wonder: what’s the point of it all? Somehow, life in the 21st century, as someone trying to be vaguely progressive, involves making endless tweaks to your life – even if you’d rather not make them – and still ending up feeling like you’re not doing enough.

Food is one part of it – try to buy organic, spend more to make sure you’re not helping anyone commit any atrocities, and so on – but the internet is arguably worse. At the end of last year, I left Twitter for good, and moved permanently to Bluesky. It was a decision that, I’m sure, cost me quite a few commissions, as many editors still refuse to budge from Elon Musk’s platform.

Visibility often is the main weapon in a freelance journalist’s arsenal, and I willingly let go of it, as I just didn’t feel comfortable being there anymore. Well, and yeah: it made me feel pretty righteous too, though righteousness rarely tends to pay the bills. More broadly, I only get items delivered to my house when I’ve explored every other option and found them all to be wanting.

It does mean that errands sometimes remain unrun for days or weeks, as I just don’t have the time to schlep to the DIY store or wherever else, but it’s all for a good cause, isn’t it? Similarly, I shun takeaway apps as I worry they’re both killing a lot of local restaurants and threatening to kill their underpaid, overworked delivery drivers.

I could go on but you hopefully get the gist. The world of 2025 is, technically, one of glorious, grotesque abundance, but the only way to feel decent about how you choose to live your life is to lead an increasingly monk-like life. I try not to be too bitter about it but sometimes it’s hard: I look at people abusing fast fashion, overusing Uber and eating whatever they damn well like and I think: man, it sure looks like they’re having a swell time. Why can’t I do the same? Or else – why can’t I convince them to join me, over her on the dour side of existence?

It’s a problem for me, of course, but I also worry that it’s a problem for left-wing parties everywhere. At risk of being a tad too vague, as I wouldn’t wish to spoil the people who haven’t got round to watching it yet, the conclusion of The Good Place, a brilliant TV show, is that all modern consumption is inherently evil.

The sitcom isn’t in any way promoting teenage communism, but instead pointing to a simple fact: the more complicated our world becomes, the harder it is for us to know if we’re doing the right thing or not, and the easier it is to cause harm without meaning to. Progressive parties should be the one arguing that people can have it all – live lives that are both fulfilling and virtuous – but where to even begin?

No-one will ever win any votes by telling the electorate to stop doing things they enjoy, and make their lives easier. Similarly, fixing a lot of these issues feels impossible at a national level, as, say, Musk can’t be reasoned with, and both food and tech giants often act like they’re too big to fail.

I wish I had more answers to offer but, in truth, I don’t. I’ve no idea what the way forward is. All I know is that I’ll still eat bass and bream, because we all have our limits, and I guess I’ve just found mine.