Politics was always woven into family life. My father was a war resister, deserting the US military so as not to serve in Vietnam. While my extended family was in the United States, we lived in Canada. My grandfather was fired from Disney for union organising. These ideas shaped who I am.

At five years old, I convinced my childhood best friend to eat a tulip. She got very sick, and there was lots of alarm. I wasn’t trying to hurt her. I just thought it would be fun.

My first piece of published writing was at 12. It was my batmitzvah speech, about anti-Black and anti-Arab racism in the Jewish community, printed in the synagogue bulletin. Clearly a contradiction in professed values, and those being practised, never sat right with me.

I ran towards danger for a while. I took risks in my reporting: in Baghdad, 2004, our hotel windows smashed during a nearby explosion – it drew the oxygen from the room. A year later, in New Orleans after Hurricane Katrina, I was in a major car accident. I thought I had a hand and brain injury, convinced I’d never think or write again. These events shook me into questioning my recklessness and I changed course.

So many of my ideas get lost forever. I fill notebooks with scribbles, but my handwriting is terrible. I must type them up before it all becomes illegible – there’s a two-week window. Often, I fail; those thoughts gone for good.

My life isn’t partitioned. There’s no separation between work, pleasure and politics. I appreciate that fluidity between joy, laughter and big ideas. Or maybe I just don’t have healthy boundaries and should learn to switch off.

Fascists terrify me. I’m scared whenever we get whipped up in a mob and don’t think for ourselves. There’s an insidiousness that I feel lurking ever-closer. When we don’t feel safe, or have faith things can improve, some seek comfort in being “better-than”; being in the “in-group”; causing pain. These are shallow pleasures, but if deep ones aren’t available? They suffice. That’s how the updated far-right is drawing people in. It’s extremely dangerous.

I love it when words fail me. Rural British Columbia is home, a beautiful part of the world. Here, I pick animals over people. I see wild creatures often, and gasp every time; their beauty leaves me speechless. As someone always in words, I love it when they don’t come, and all I can do is feel.

Parenthood has made me more emotionally literate. Supporting my child navigate the stormy waters of their feelings, gave me the tools to help myself.

Let go of your self-consciousness, believe me. I regret not doing so sooner. People are far busier, and less concerned with you than you might imagine. I wish I’d wasted less energy caring about what people thought.

Relationships go through cycles, whether romantic or friendships. Don’t panic when things feel tough; give people space to feel and work through it: it’s important for longevity. If connections are to endure, don’t expect them to remain the same for ever.

Those moments where we forget ourselves entirely have a magic power to release stress, abuse and grief. Iris Murdoch labelled it “unselfing”. I find it jumping in the freezing ocean. Walking through a valley. Lying on paddle boards with my 12-year-old son, holding hands.

Bridges were a long-term phobia. When I was very young, our car broke down on one, mid-snowstorm. I was convinced we’d go over. Well into adulthood, I remained afraid: eyes shut when crossing, or head-in-a-pillowcase. These past few years, that’s lifted.

The next generation is so much smarter than we are; so much more advanced in their political sophistication. They aren’t making the same mistakes we did.

Doppelganger by Naomi Klein is published by Penguin at £10.99. Buy it for £9.56 at guardianbookshop.com