The Burden of Recycling

I am a child of the seventies raised on Ranger Rick and goats milk.  I believe in being kind to all creatures and all life on earth.  I am a tree-hugger, a granola, a greenie.  I feel it is incumbent upon me to keep my impact on the earth low.  So I recycle.  I recycle paper and plastic and glass and aluminum.  I recycle whatever can be recycled in my area and reuse as much of the rest of it as I can.  And so I have bins and bags and garbage cans full of objects and items awaiting their fate, for in our area you can recycle very little:  two grades of plastic, glass bottles and jars, and paper. 

Armed with this knowledge I go to the grocery store to buy goods.  But as there are only two of us in my household, buying things in bulk is not particularly appropriate - things go bad before we get to them.  And buying things that are organic and made by "green" companies does not always ensure the reduction of packaging and non-recyclable materials.  Coupled with the fact that we are on a tight budget, we can not always buy the items of least environmental impact.

And what of the electronic devices so inherent to our world these days?  I could not work from home without my computer and external drives and cds and dvds.  And what of battery operated appliances that are necessities - I am speaking of flashlights and radios for when the power goes out.  And what of the plastic that everything is made of these days?  And tires?  And the toxic fluids like oil that keeps our world running?

Ever trip to the store is a mental balancing act.  I cannot just buy what I want and leave.  I must mull over every purchase of every size and every packaging persuasion.  Any purchase of an appliance must be weighed with a heavy heart and a light pocketbook.  I have two twenty year old tvs.  I have a twenty year old vcr.  We do own a dvd player, and are housing every other one we bought that died within six months.  Every dead radio or speaker, every unusable appliance that I cannot bear to see go into the landfill lives in my garage or basement or attic.  I am being buried by the weight of garbage and guilt.

It would be nice if I could just not care.  Oh how freeing to toss one's waste without thought of the future and the desecration of the land.  I have tried to throw things out and occasionally manage it - once it has been through rigorous reuse.  But I am only one person, I can only reuse so much.  

Perhaps it would be better if others cared more.  If companies could use less plastic and paper in their packaging.  If more companies were interested in recycling their products and making products that last.  Gone are the days of owning objects for a lifetime.  Of fixing things that break down instead of buying new.  Of feeling proud of every shabby sweater that has warmed you for an age.  Of embracing the old for its service and sentimentality.

And so I struggle with the bins and boxes and bags.  And I search in vain for new ways to repurpose and reuse and recycle what I can.  And I hope for a few more people to feel as strongly as I.  Perhaps some day things will change.  But at least I can live with myself until then.

Musings on Perfection

As a child I sought long and hard to find the exact right way to do things:  the perfect way, the only way, a way to ensure that I would be safe, that life would be perfect.  I killed myself trying to remember everything I had ever learned so that I did not have to look foolish.  I rehearsed phone dialogs in my head and then chose not to call anyway - even if I didn't have to identify myself.  I would not enter conversations even if I thought I had something to add because I could never be sure enough of the information I thought I knew.  I could not stand to be wrong.

To be wrong was to be ignorant, uncooth, unlikeable and imperfect.  To be wrong was to open oneself up to the opinions and judgements of others:  to be insecure, to be vulnerable.  I simply was too soft, too unsure of myself and my value to allow for others to challenge it.  So I stopped being.  I would not speak to others outside of my family and possibly one or two close friends.  I did not offer opinions or answers in school.  I did not engage with others in outside activities.  I hid in my head and tried to remain unseen by the world.  I did not look people in the face.  I tried not to know their names for if I didn't acknowledge them, they wouldn't acknowledge me.

For years I perfected my ability to think and remember.  To come up with retorts and witty conversation, but to keep them to myself.  I went through grade school and middle school and high school and college, trapped in my own mind and at the mercy of the outside world.  Those few with whom I felt safe and comfortable got the full brunt of my need to be heard and understood and acknowledged, suffering through day long conversations, arguments and diatribes.

Upon graduation and the need to find a job, I fell into a situation where I was forced to interact, to speak, to be.  So I watched and I learned and I analyzed the right way to do my job.  I memorized every client, every voice, every job we had ever done.  I knew where everything was, how everything worked and which of the other personnel to keep away from.  I was liked, respected, and driving myself crazy with the burden of it all.

Finally, after years of flogging myself to be perfect, the breakdown of my defenses began.  I felt I could offer my own suggestions, have my own opinions and stop being disingenuous with those around me.  I was no longer a yes man.  I had knowledge and value in my own right.  No one criticized my notions.  People enjoyed the discourse.  I still had value, but as myself, not as a tool for someone else.  And something inside told me this was right.

It is right to be real, to be alive and have meaningful interactions with others.  It is right to have integrity and follow your own moral code.  It is right to be yourself to the utmost exact.  And in this you can attain perfection.