We resist change, but why would we fight against a simple lifestyle modification like recycling? I read today that people attending the Democratic National Convention in Denver were sternly directed to recycle every piece of paper, plastic or garbage. Everybody cooperated fine until the last day, when, according to reports, the masses rebelled and deposited all their trash in a single pile for a bulldozer to remove.
Let me suggest one reason we can't get much traction toward creating an eco-friendly culture. It is our mobility. We move around a lot. Not just in our automobiles, buses, trains and airplanes. We move from home to home. I don't have hard statistics, but a realtor I know said most people stay in a home for 5-6 years. That means we're likely to change our residence between 7 and 12 times in our lifetimes. That doesn't give us much time to develop a relationship with our land, other than to chase weeds and cut grass. Professional landscapers and gardeners look after the rest. How many homeowners have the time to really get to know the earth upon which their home sits? Who knows the other critters they share the land with? How is the lot they live on ecologically connected to the lots of neighbors, or the wider geography?
We are super-mobile. And we are super collectors. We get attached, but not to land. We get attached to people and to our stuff. Try to imagine who you are apart from your people and your stuff. Kind of an existential question, but try it. Pretty tough, huh? Now imagine yourself apart from the parcel of earth you live on. Easier?
So, we move a lot, and we collect stuff. Generations ago, we stayed put and traveled light. Today we move around and take lots of our stuff with us. We're “on the go”, and we want to have everything with us, wherever we go.
I remember when my kids were small, it was difficult for them to decide which among their toys they could survive without on an overnight trip to the grands. It was no meager undertaking to persuade them to choose between the Transformers, the Pound Puppy and the Cabbage Patch Kid. Maybe we still have some of that childhood attachment to all our stuff. Maybe we still don't believe we'll survive without our stuff.
Truth is we simply can't carry all our stuff with us everywhere we go, as much as we try. When we're “on the go”, we have to “take out” our food so we can eat “on the way”. A mobile culture depends on being able to replace stuff wherever our travels take us. I think it's our moving around so much that has created our dependence on disposable stuff. It's surely more convenient to toss stuff overboard, out the window or into the trash receptacle than to have to store it and carry it with us to the next destination. Of course, doing without isn't an option for most of us.
I just used the word “convenient”. It comes from ancient words meaning “fit” or “suit”, as in “working in an office just isn't a good fit for me”, and “the life of a traveling salesman doesn't really suit you”. A culture of convenience is dedicated to the proposition that we can tailor our world to “fit” us. This is in opposition to the notion that we, the humans, might have to adjust our lifestyles to “fit” the world we live in.
The industrial revolution created convenience on a phenomenal scale. Technology has enabled many of us to tailor our world to suit us with amazing precision. Al Gore's production of “An Inconvenient Truth” woke many of us up to the consequences of the modern conveniences these previous eras made possible. We've been altering the environment to suit our human form at the cost of making it no longer suitable to live in. We're on the verge of making it “unfit” to sustain our future.
What are the chances that, as a nation, if not as a species, we'll voluntarily return to living more locally and reducing our consumption? There are signs of hope, but it's going to require all of us to take the environmental crisis seriously, and make personal adjustments to our lifestyle. I'm driving less, and eating locally grown food. Green suits me. Try it on for size!
This was in the middle of winter, and we had hiked a mile through snow, at dusk, carrying our stuff. I had brought with me two apples, about 3/4 cup of brown rice, a few tea bags and a small amount of raisins. As soon as I was in my cabin I started to feel really hungry - not something I feel often. Not only was I really hungry, but I was really hungry for a hamburger and french fries - also something I do not eat that often, and I rarely, if ever, actually crave such foods. I started to feel empty and slightly despairing, knowing that this is all I had from Friday evening until Sunday morning - it seemed like a very long time.
I started a fire in the wood stove and put water on to make rice and tea. Doing this comforted me immensely. The act of getting the wood from outside and getting that precious, vital fire going was hugely satisfying. And then I thought - \"wow, tea and rice - how lovely!\" But I couldn\'t find any tea bags. I looked for several minutes. Despair hit me again. I poured hot water into my mug, sat down and took a sip.
It was delicious! I had a fabulous meal of brown rice, with a little salt and pepper, and a cup of warm water.
For breakfast it was rice with some apples and raisins. I forget what I had for lunch but on the second night I found my tea bags and felt abundant!
The second experience was about a year or so after I moved here to Philadelphia. I was not dancing or singing or doing much community activities; this was quite a contrast to my life in Gloucester. I started wanting to go shopping like I had never wanted to in the past. I was depressed, and the idea of purchasing something picked up my spirits. It didn\'t have to be much, a little kitchen trinket or a bra. Fortunately I caught on to this quickly. But isn\'t it interesting?
I remember mentioning it to mom - the thing about wanting to buy things...she said something like \"Oh you analyze things too much.\"