When most of us think about the future, our minds drift toward crisis. We picture rising temperatures, worsening floods and fires, unaffordable housing, empty supermarket shelves, or political turmoil. We’ve become good at imagining dystopias — and far less practiced at imagining futures that feel hopeful, safe and regenerative.
But what if the problem isn’t that people don’t care?
What if the real issue is that no one has ever asked us, collectively, what we want instead?
This is the question at the heart of Imagine Northern Rivers, a powerful place-based futures project led by Carmen Stewart — a regenerative futures practitioner, futurist, community facilitator, and guest on this episode of the Voices of the New Economy podcast.
Carmen’s work offers something rare in today’s public conversations: a practical, grounded, community-driven glimpse of how we might shift from the “great unravelling” to the “great turning”.
And, perhaps most importantly, it shows that ordinary people already hold the seeds of a new economy — if we make space to listen.
Why we struggle to imagine a better future
When most of us think about the future, our minds drift toward crisis. We picture rising temperatures, worsening floods and fires, unaffordable housing, empty supermarket shelves or political turmoil. We have become exceptionally skilled at imagining dystopias—and far less practised at imagining futures that feel hopeful, safe and regenerative. But as Carmen Stewart notes, the problem is not apathy. Rather, it is that we have not been collectively invited to articulate what we want instead.
Carmen’s early research revealed a striking pattern: people could speak at length about environmental collapse, conflict and social breakdown but struggled to describe a future worth living in. This narrative gap has been shaped by two dominant societal stories—the insistence on “business as usual” at all costs, and the mounting sense of the “great unravelling”. What is missing is the third, transformative story: the “great turning”, a shift towards regenerative, life-honouring systems. Crucially, this shift is not abstract or utopian. Its early roots already exist in communities everywhere.
A region on the frontline — and ahead of the curve
For residents of the Northern Rivers, climate change is not theoretical. Years of catastrophic floods, fires, housing pressures and infrastructure strain have left deep marks on the region. Yet when Carmen brought together farmers, church groups, school students, business owners, activists and families for community workshops, something remarkable unfolded. People began painting detailed visions of a future that felt not only possible but profoundly desirable.
Participants described a region with flourishing local food systems, regenerative agriculture, sustainable and affordable housing, stronger neighbourhood connections, restored ecosystems, safer communities and a circular, nature-based economy. Education was imagined as a place that cultivates real-world skills, ecological understanding and a strong sense of belonging. These visions were grounded not in technical jargon but in universal human needs—connection, safety, dignity, and hope. As Carmen reflects, whenever she asks groups whether their imagined futures are achievable, the answer is always yes. “There’s no rocket science here.”
What happens when people imagine together
The Imagine Northern Rivers workshop method is deceptively simple. Participants begin by picturing a child born today and imagining the conditions this child would need at different ages—five, ten, fifteen, twenty-one and thirty-five—to feel safe, supported and able to thrive. They then consider what the region would have to change in order to meet those needs, and all ideas are woven into a shared narrative.
This process gently bypasses political identities and ideological divides. It centres shared aspirations rather than disagreements, and it honours individual insights while revealing powerful patterns that emerge across communities. Participants repeatedly envision futures grounded in localised food and energy systems, trust-based neighbourhood connections, nature-informed design, mutual support, community-led governance, and simpler, less consumption-driven ways of living. What emerges is the heartbeat of a new economy—one that people already desire, even if they have not yet been given the language for it.
Why place matters
In a world defined by global crises, Carmen emphasises that the most meaningful action begins locally. While climate change can feel abstract and untouchable, the work of resilience-building is profoundly place-based. People can grow food with their neighbours, strengthen local economies, regenerate soils and ecosystems, rebuild social ties, design community spaces with care rather than extraction, and practise new forms of governance that centre participation and responsibility.
Place is where fear softens and possibility becomes tangible. As Carmen notes, it is “the only domain where we have real efficacy—it’s where we raise our children, where we build relationships, where we can actually contribute.” This is not small-scale idealism. It is the relational foundation through which every major societal shift has historically unfolded.
The economy we truly want
When Carmen analysed thousands of ideas contributed across workshops, a clear and consistent pattern emerged. People want economies built on regeneration rather than extraction, sufficiency rather than excess, and connection rather than isolation. They want housing understood as a human right rather than a speculative asset. They want dependable local food networks, not vulnerable global supply chains. They want a sense of safety, community and mutual care—conditions that our current economic system does not cultivate.
These desires are not fringe or radical. They are widespread hopes that have simply lacked naming and collective expression. Imagine Northern Rivers has begun giving them language, and that linguistic shift matters. As Carmen puts it, “Language shapes how we make sense of our world. When you can name the hot mess, you can turn toward the regenerative future.”
So how do we begin?
Carmen’s guidance for individuals is both gentle and profound. Start with honest conversations. Ask neighbours what they long for. Begin with relationships and the spaces you already inhabit. Follow curiosity and yearning rather than obligation. Connect deeply to place, imagine together, and allow the work to be collective rather than solitary.
Most importantly, she encourages people to let go of the pressure to “save the world”. The task is far more grounded than that: begin regenerating the part of the world you touch. Change unfolds through networks, relationships and shared imagination—not heroic individual action.
A new economy begins with new stories
For those newly entering the new economy movement, Carmen’s work offers a compelling point of entry. It reminds us that people are hungry for change, that alternatives already exist, and that communities hold the wisdom needed to build futures grounded in care and ecological integrity. The future, Carmen suggests, is not something that happens to us. It is something we imagine and shape together.
And perhaps the most hopeful insight of all: a regenerative future is not only possible—we are already beginning to imagine it into being.
