It was April 2024, on her 90th birthday, when I had the privilege of sitting across from Jane Goodall in Manhattan. She was there to announce an exciting collaboration with Brilliant Earth, a jewelry company. As part of this partnership, the Jane Goodall Institute would receive a generous $100,000 donation, and Dr. Goodall’s name would grace a new collection of environmentally conscious jewelry—featuring recycled gold and lab-grown diamonds, entirely free from the impact of mining.
The atmosphere was bustling with activity—a luncheon was being prepared, and fashion influencers milled about. Amidst this energetic scene, Dr. Goodall appeared noticeably small and weary.
My opening question was clear in my mind.
“What was the very first thought that crossed your mind this morning, on your 90th birthday?” I inquired. The ambient noise was such that I had to lean in closely to catch her reply.
“I wished I was somewhere entirely different,” she confessed.
This was certainly not the response I had anticipated. Later, listening back to our interview on the day of her passing, I noticed the shift in my own voice, from a cheerful tone to one of genuine concern.
“You see, I much prefer being immersed in nature,” she clarified. She then shared memories of the numerous birthday messages she’d received that morning, and how her thoughts had turned to loved ones. Yet, this particular day, she explained with a mix of sadness and determination, wasn’t about personal celebration.
“This milestone birthday is dedicated to my core mission: spreading awareness globally and securing funds for our vital projects,” she stated.
Those close to Dr. Goodall consistently noted her unwavering dedication to this mission. Her primary goal was to ensure her institute’s crucial conservation and educational efforts would thrive long after her lifetime. She was deeply committed to leveraging her global recognition—or rather, the profound respect and admiration she commanded—to spur worldwide action on climate change and the urgent issue of biodiversity loss.
“That’s precisely why I spend 300 days a year traveling,” she explained. “It’s simply not enough to merely discuss what needs to happen. We absolutely must take action.”
From the moment she gained prominence as a young researcher observing chimpanzees fashioning tools from stems and twigs to catch termites, Jane Goodall consistently showed an immense willingness to dedicate herself to her causes.
She frequently recounted a memorable story involving her legs. In the 1960s, photographs in National Geographic depicted a youthful Dr. Goodall in the Tanzanian field, ponytail swinging, dressed in shorts. Her legs became a subject of discussion, often cited for their attractiveness. On a recent podcast, “Call Her Daddy,” she recalled how some envious male scientists grumbled that her visibility—and funding—for research stemmed from her physical appearance.
“Today, such comments would likely lead to legal action, wouldn’t they?” she remarked. “But back then, my sole desire was to return to my chimpanzees. So if my legs were the key to securing funding, then, ‘Thank you, legs!’” she declared, affectionately patting her thigh.
“And truly,” she added with a twinkle, “they were rather lovely legs!”
However, during our interview last April, she admitted to feeling utterly exhausted, and it showed. I offered to conclude our conversation early, but she firmly insisted I continue with my questions.
“This way, I can comfortably stay here and chat with you, rather than engaging in small talk,” she said with a warm smile.
Our conversation then shifted to the upcoming United Nations biodiversity conference that autumn. I raised a point she often emphasized but which struggled for widespread adoption: the critical need to reduce consumption. I recalled her expansion of the traditional three R’s (reduce, reuse, recycle) to five, by adding “refuse” and “rot.” She firmly believed that adopting a circular economy, mirroring nature’s inherent zero-waste systems, was essential to overcoming the environmental crisis we face.
She further stressed the pivotal role of children in inspiring adults to embrace more ethical lifestyles. I was well aware of Dr. Goodall’s passion for discussing Roots & Shoots, her institute’s youth program, and she seized this chance to showcase its importance.
We also touched upon journalism. She asserted that it was crucial for reporters to bring to light the often-unheard stories of individuals striving to create positive change.
“It’s not simply about sharing positive news,” she clarified, “but showing how those hopeful developments contribute to lessening the pervasive sense of despair and gloom.”
While we didn’t discuss death explicitly, it was a topic she frequently addressed in her writings and talks. In her book “The Book of Hope: A Survival Guide for Trying Times,” co-authored with Doug Abrams, she famously referred to death as her ‘next great adventure.’
Several months later, I had the opportunity to interview Dr. Goodall once more, this time on stage at The New York Times’s 2024 Climate Forward event, which took place exactly a year ago last week.
My most cherished memories from that day involve our time in the greenroom before the interview. We shared stories about her Welsh grandfather and my Welsh mother. On this occasion, she exuded a calm yet vibrant energy, displaying a remarkable blend of gentleness and sharp wit.
As I stood on stage, my final question was already decided.
In preparation for that particular interview, I had polled a wide array of people about what they most wanted to ask Dr. Goodall. The overwhelming and consistent answer was about finding hope. Knowing she had thoroughly addressed this topic in multiple books, I chose a different angle. My question focused on how she balanced genuine hope—which she saw in human intelligence, nature’s resilience, the potential of youth, and the unbreakable human spirit—with what some dismiss as ‘hopium,’ or false optimism.
Her response was immediate and clear.
“Hope is far more than mere wishful thinking,” she declared, inviting us to visualize a long, dark tunnel with a distant star glimmering at its end, symbolizing hope.
“It does no good to simply sit at the tunnel’s entrance, merely wishing for that hope to reach us,” she asserted. “Instead, we must roll up our sleeves. As the Bible says, ‘gird your loins’—a phrase I adore, even if I’m not entirely certain of its literal meaning! But let’s embrace that spirit. We have to climb over, crawl under, and find our way around every obstacle that stands between us and that shining star.”