First, a quote from a favorite author, for both of us.
“I became a fiction writer…out of a sense of calling, out of gratitude for the sustenance that novels have given me, out of raw heartache for humanity, out of a desire to write antically of humanity’s antics, and out of an overtly contemplative yearning for the loss of self that occurs during the daily making of fiction, in the belief that “he that loseth his life shall save it.”
and he goes on...
"I became a nonfiction writer…out of a sense of betrayal, out of rage over natural systems violated, out of grief for a loved world raped, and out of a craving for justice.
…My inner fiction writer is a complete and demanding personality. My inner nonfiction writer is a complete and demanding personality. How does it feel to have two demanding literary personae crammed into one head and body, fighting for possession of my pen? Gnarly! But if we reclusive artists and contemplatives, we confrontation-haters, we humans, do not rob our private selves often enough to give voice and succor to the primordial and life-sustaining, I believe we’ll soon live in a land so reduced and desperate that such delicate art forms as fiction will not exist. It’s just a peek into neighboring lands, where a literature-killing desperation is already in place."
Now, this is me, looking at that quote above and thinking one could substitute any kind of art for the inner fiction writer.
A writer like that is raw and open, and maintains hopefulness for the next generation ---and I hear his struggle because to abandon hope would be to abandon everything that has succored and sustained me for 60 years. It would be a betrayal to give up hope in the future. Still, I live with the weight of what I know. You know I would not give that away for “happy ignorance”. Rather, I find myself holding onto what I know is being lost and the pain it delivers to my soul with the same fierce emotional vice-grip you do your youthful hopefulness.
But I also laugh out loud at funny and rest in the fleeting brilliance of beauty, friends and my family.
You said: "But I don’t know if I am interested in trying to save the world anymore."
Good. It will kill you to try to do that. Just don’t turn off your feeling for it. 
You said you want: "to live close to nature, and nurture a family. I want to be a mom. I want to love the man I marry. I want to have a green home. I want to love what I do, and I want what I do to be elemental, creative and flexible. I want to save my own little piece of the world. I want to seek and protect my own happiness”.
Yes, Mariya . . . this IS also activism.
You said: “I do not wish to hold the suffering of the world heavy on my heart.”
Good. Very wise. Hold it lightly then. And dare to be happy even while never giving up on fighting for what you believe in.
You said: “I am still naive, in a good way. And I think you are too.”
Hmm… everyone, anyone else? What do you think? Am I naïve? Are you?
P.S... Steve Jobs died yesterday at 56. I loved his quote. Seemed appropriate to this discussion.
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