Sometimes when you’ve been doing something one way your whole life, it becomes very difficult to see it from another perspective.
For me, recycling was a way of life. I’d never known any different. Not only did I grow up in a household that believed in being a good steward, being responsible, and taking care of the planet, but I also grew-up in the country, where we got rid of our trash by burning what we could and recycling what wouldn’t burn. Don’t get me wrong, we weren’t so far out in the country that a trash pick-up service wasn’t available, but that would cost money and why pay for something when you don’t have to?
Now, just because recycling was the way we did things doesn’t mean I liked it one bit. Sure, I felt slightly good about my efforts to preserve the planet for future generations, but that really didn’t counter-act the loathing I held for going to the recycling center. In the spirit of thriftiness, we dropped off the recycling when we were already in town, which meant we tackled those containers in our Sunday clothes after church. It was like climbing Everest in a swimming suit. No matter how well we rinsed our cans and milk jugs, they still smelled like garbage and rotting milk. Even if the wind was blowing just right and we could trudge across the parking lot ahead of the smell, when it came time to hoist the bags up to the windows of the recycling bins, a small feat when those windows were high above your head, something was sure to drop on you. A can, a jug, or worst of all, liquid in some form or another. Uggh. I get shivers just remembering it. I’ll happily muck a horse stall or help stitch up a wound, but I find garbage deplorable. They try to make it sound clean and green by deeming it “recycling” but its garbage, and I had to touch it. Every week. In my Sunday clothes. And then ride all the way home before washing my hands (these were the days before hand sanitizer in to-go bottles). Needless to say, when I moved into town, it was bye-bye recycling!
Funny thing though, after a couple of years, I started sorting my trash a bit. My roommate and I would save out the glass bottles, intending to recycle them like good upstanding citizens, however not once in three years did I ever venture to the recycling center. You may be wondering about those glass bottles we were saving; well, we kept saving them and when they would threaten to crowd us out of the kitchen, my wonderful boyfriend would stop by and miraculously make them disappear. I liked this kind of recycling! MAGIC! When we realized the system of us piling and him making it disappear, we started saving more items. Tin cans. Cardboard. Paper. But not milk jugs. Never milk jugs.
I eventually married that Magic doer and we moved out to the country. No trash pick-up this time, even if I could bring myself to pay for it. Back to burning, which is a fine way to dispose of trash, but those darn tin cans and glass jars just won’t disappear, no matter how many times I burn them. So it’s back to the recycling center. Turns out, in this small town community, it’s a very gratifying experience. The bins for the recycling are under roof and you drop your recycling down into them instead of hoisting it above your head. You can pull right up to the walk way and there are generally other responsible, smiling citizens happily sorting their recycling into the appropriate bins without the worries of the sky, tin cans, or any form of liquid falling on their heads.
They say life looks better when you’re on top. Who knows. Sometimes all it takes is a change in perspective. I took a Fresh Perspective on recycling. What new perspective can you take?
