What does "Going Green" really mean? Certainly, it doesn't just have one meaning which is why I chose to spend this past year reflecting on how I could live a green life while avoiding green guilt.

I have figured out just one thing: I have no idea how to "go green".

The "buy nothing new" pledge turned out to be more fun and less challenging, overall, than any of us anticipated. My husband, once skeptical of this project, was actually better at buying nothing than I was. I cheated a few times, felt incredible guilty about it, and tried to do better.

It's funny, though, as soon as I called off the pledge, I began to buy. And buy. And buy. I needed a new this, I wanted a new that, and before long, I was wheeling down the aisles of Target with a full cart of junk.

In my defense, most of what I've bought in the last couple of weeks replaces things that have worn out over the past year and that I need for my upcoming travels. I am also finding it difficult to actually purchase anything. I got that loaded cart up to the check-out counter, turned it around, and put about two-thirds of the stuff that I really didn't need back on the shelves.

So, maybe I'll be less of a consumer due to my year-long pledge but that doesn't really make me any "greener." What more can I do to "go green?"

Yes, I still drive my Prius, belong to a CSA (community-supported agriculture), financially support environmental organizations, and carefully pay attention to the politics of global climate change. I'm teaching my daughters to be wood nymphs as we search for bugs under logs and chase squirrels through the forest. I get angry about political interference with science, exotic species invading our local forests, and the plight of the polar bears. I faithfully recycle, drink beer from refillable glass growlers, reuse Ziploc bags, etc.

Yet, the scale of global climate change is huge, and I can't help but feel that all of these actions make no significant difference.

To avoid most of the catastrophic climate change, we need immediate, courageous and expensive political action and I have just one vote. If I had money, I could give large amounts of support to particular candidates and perhaps gain influence. If I had time, I could "get out the vote" encouraging others to support the greenest candidate or environmental legislation.

Unfortunately, I have neither money nor time.

Out of both frustration and curiosity, I recently asked my Duke students "what should an individual do to make a positive impact on the environment?" Some optimistically suggested that teaching and serving as a role model were the most important actions a particular individual could do.

Maybe they are right. Maybe, for me, going green means continuing to talk about environmental issues in my courses and writing publicly about these issues in newspapers and other public outlets.

But, you know, it just doesn't feel like enough. I think many of us who want to be green share this helplessness. We know that our individual actions could add up and we hope that if more people drove less or ate locally, then a real difference would be made.

How do we sustain that hope despite evidence that a much more significant cut in carbon emissions (some estimate 70 percent) is needed to avert most of the effects of climate change? How do we sustain that hope when, for many people, going green means buying the latest organic fashion or Sierra Club calendar?

One of my environmental heroes, writer Bill McKibbon, recently talked about feeling frustrated with the slow pace of climate change legislation. He also stressed that it's important to go out into the woods to be renewed in the fight for the earth.

I'm taking his advice. I'll spend a year working on restoration projects and retreating to British Columbia to write. With my daughters, I'll learn to harvest oysters, track wolves, and identify plant species in temperate rainforests. I'm in search of a connection to nature that will inspire, invigorate, and sustain a green life.

I'll let you know what I find.