For many, choosing a life of minimalism creates a flexibility rooted in a more mindful relationship with our belongings and available resources. No longer needing to keep pace with the status quo, it becomes easier to view the modern way of life through a different lens. I’ve mentioned this before, but backpacking has been a practice that continually invites this reflection for me. I began questioning our way of life years ago, and that curiosity has only deepened over time.

We have one inhabitable planet. Pollution erodes it. Mining fractures finite resources. Consumerism widens already-growing global disparities. Politics reinforce a sense of othering, encouraging us to find fault in opposing perspectives rather than seeking understanding.

For me, COVID became a clear signal that we need to redefine our collective purpose and intent. There will be an invisible breaking point—a moment beyond which the damage we’ve done becomes irreversible. That awareness has stayed with me, shaping how I think about responsibility, systems, and the choices we normalize.

It’s from this perspective that I recently welcomed a book into my life.

Originally released in 2017, Doughnut Economics by Kate Raworth challenges the foundations of how we understand and measure economic success. Rather than offering a neat or final solution, Raworth presents a living framework—one that asks how we might design an economy where all participants can thrive within the limits of our planet. Though the book is now eight years old, its relevance has only intensified. It was never meant to be definitive, but iterative—a work still unfolding alongside the world it seeks to reshape.

Raworth breaks the book into seven core sections, grounding her ideas in extensive research along the way. In short, she brings readers up to speed on the history of economics and its linear models of growth, arguing that our perspective on the subject has failed to evolve with the times. Her proposed alternative—the doughnut—illustrates the sweet spot of a regenerative economy that exists between an ecological ceiling and a social foundation, creating the greatest opportunity for both people and the planet to thrive.

The first half of the book was admittedly a slow read for me, at times feeling like required coursework rather than casual reading. But the second half made it difficult to put down. The narrative catches up with the present, examining the systemic failures that led to the 2008 financial collapse and unpacking how deeply politics and economics intertwine—often leaving lower-income populations in an increasingly vulnerable position. Raworth explores alternative models of social economies emerging around the world and dives into the concept of regenerative production as a viable path forward.

I went into the book concerned it might feel preachy, but instead it remains largely factual—focused on what has happened, why it matters, and where readers might engage or take action within their own spheres of influence.

Many of us are fortunate to live within democratic systems where we at least retain the power of a vote, but meaningful change will require far more than that if we are to truly thrive.

I highly recommend a visit to the library to pick up a copy—or to explore the audiobook version. Future generations may very well be counting on the choices we make today. Will this ignite your spark?