“The world is changed
by your example, not by your opinion.”
~Paulo Coelho
I take daily walks around my neighborhood, often playing
Lisa Gerrard’s “Sacrifice” or Deva Premal’s “Gaté Gaté” low in my ear buds as I
wove through the neighborhood. I keep the volume just high enough to drown out
the street traffic, but not so loud as to drown out the natural birdsong. The
ice and snow have melted in my residential area, unveiling the layers of
litter, clothing, red Solo cups, broken bottles, and pieces of furniture long
gone to the curb.
People walk by it every day and don’t see it. It happens. The
garbage becomes part of the background, or maybe people get depressed by it and
they stop seeing it. Where I live, it’s a mixed bag. One block to the west of
us is made up of quiet residential homes and the streets are nearly cleaned up
post-snow melt after just a couple of weeks.
One block to the east of us is mostly rental apartments. The
difference in the condition of the yards and streets is tangible. There is a sense of “I didn’t put that garbage there.
It’s not my garbage. It’s not my yard. It’s not my job.”
Just a quick walk around the corner this morning revealed an
old sweatshirt, a small plastic child’s pennywhistle, chunks of broken liquor
bottles, a rusty metal bedframe in pieces, old plastic bags with soupy dog
shit, candy wrappers, a warped phone book, a car gas tank cover, three empty
dime bags, a baby shoe, a row of abandoned plastic cups, a plethora of cigarette
butts of varying ages, and a deflated basketball. I picked up the garbage,
wearing a pair of kitchen gloves, and put it to the curb with my trash.
Side note: As a general
rule, I only pick up trash between the sidewalk and the curb, or from vacant
and abandoned houses. I don’t go into people’s yards without their permission.
I did learn, while walking around and snapping pictures, that other people may
not see or want to pick up their own trash, but they sure get persnickety when they
realized that I saw it and was documenting it. I guess blinding yourself to
something sad only works if everyone is in silent agreement to do the same. I
have also learned that most people are more than willing to let me pick up the
trash in their yards. Only a few get suspicious that I have ulterior motives… that
there might be treasure in their trash that I am lying about. I couldn’t
possibly just be doing it because it needs to be done.
I rent. I don’t own my apartment. I don’t own my house. I
don’t own my yard. I don’t own my street. But I care what the yard looks like. I
care what my home looks like, and what that message says to others when they
come to visit. I think the way people live is a reflection of what they think
they deserve. I may not have the money to move into a nicer neighborhood, but I
can keep my home clean. I can steward myself to the earth that holds me. I can
care for it. I can do that much.
It doesn’t matter if it is my
trash or not. It doesn’t matter if I was the one who threw the garbage to the
ground or not. It doesn’t matter if I own the yard or not. The Earth belongs to
everyone and I am a part of it, walking with my eyes open. The garbage is
there. Someone has to clean it up.
“Be the change you
wish to see in the world.”
~Mahatma Gandhi
I don’t want to live in a home full of trash. I don’t want
to come home to a yard full of trash. I don’t want to park my car on a street
covered in trash. It makes me sad to see the spring crocuses and daylilies
choking beneath so much garbage. We all need a little breathing room.
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