We know that one way to reduce inflammation in the body (which, over time, can damage DNA and lead to cardiovascular disease and cancer, among other deep unpleasantries) is to reduce toxic exposure. How do you do that when the air that surrounds you is laden with toxins?
With wildfires up and down the west coast, buildings and cars incinerate, which means all the toxic building materials to construct those buildings and cars become airborne particles. This is added to all the particulate matter that results when all our other toxic stuff burns: the toxic cleansers; toxic household materials, like paint and paint thinner, that many of us keep on hand; pesticides, herbicides, fungicides, fertilizers; and various and sundry poisons that we have allowed to become a “normal” part of our lives.
Of course, staying indoors with the air purifier on is a reasonable response. But even the most airtight house is going to admit some outdoor air, along with the airborne toxins it brings like a spiteful housewarming gift. And you'll probably need to go outside in it—to go grocery shopping, to feed the goats or chickens, to water the garden, to walk the dog. During this most recent spell of unhealthy air, I let a lot of plant-watering go, and I only let my dog outside, did not take her on hour-long walks. But even opening and closing the door to let the dog out is going to add to one's exposure.
Plus I work outside. Even with an N-95 mask on, I still smell the smoke, so something's getting inside that mask. Also, since the N-95 loses effectiveness when it gets wet, sweating and simply inhaling and exhaling inside that thing will compromise it because of the moisture that results. But at what point is the mask's effectiveness reduced, and by how much? I haven't found reliable information about this. How frequently should I be changing out my N95 for maximum protection? I still don't know the answer.
For people with asthma or COPD or other respiratory issues, wildfires must make life impossible. But even people without respiratory challenges are going to be harmed by these exposures. Now that I've gotten sick myself from toxic smoke exposure, which made possible not one but two different disease processes in my body, I'm going to be much more cautious going forward.
Which means, literally, I won't be going outside if the air quality isn't good. Or rather, I'll be going outside as little as possible. I still need to feed and water the goats because I'm responsible for them. But I will choose to let some plants fend for themselves—it pains me to write that because, of course, I have responsibility for their wellbeing too—instead of standing outside watering and tending. It also means that my hours at work are going to get really truncated on days with bad air.
Today, the air quality is considered "moderate," but the air smells like smoke. If the air smells like smoke--and I know, now, unequivocally, that that smoke can dry out and make vulnerable tissues in my body, and that the toxins in that smoke can lodge in my tissues and wreak all kinds of gnarly havoc—I will not be going outside in it. Before, "moderate" was my cut-off. No longer. Air, you've got to be Good for me to go outside in you.
The real question I'm working with: If the air in California is intermittently unhealthy for 20-25% of every year, what kind of life is that?
For those of us who rely on abundant time outdoors—in forests, at the shore, in gardens—for our mental, physical, and spiritual health--being sentenced to stay indoors all the time doesn't just result in a feeling of antsy restlessness (although that too), it feels that those carefully built and tended pillars—physical, mental, and spiritual wellbeing—are eroding in a completely singular and unique kind of corrosive exhaustion.