When I dropped by tangerine peels into the trash tonight, I realized that designating a plastic margarine cylinder to be home to food scraps, would not have thrown off the existing garbage system, disrespected the home of los abuelos or tacked on an extraneous errand to my morning commute.
Instead, composting not only would have fed earth worms, fertilized that soil, and decreased my landfill DNA, but also saved me a whole lot of cognitive dissonance about how green my soul really is.
(Let’s be honest here. You can’t really say that you’re rejecting cars, when practically most everyone of 8 million New Yorkers takes the subway most everywhere.)
Rather than bloat myself with the self-righteousness that only comes from obsessing over pithy and witty blogs and Op-Eds, I might apply that screen time to tending the earth, my home. “They’re my role models,” which provides a wonderful rationalization of why I spend so much time absorbing and so little time doing.
“It is easier to live through someone else than to become complete yourself.”
Dear Betty Friedan, you are so very right, about that and the personal being political. I want my life to drive the discussion, so why to I find it so much more worthy to let my internet history do the talking?