This one goes out to my friends that work in the environmental movement. I say this with the utmost love and respect from the deepest
trenches of my adoring heart: you’re crazy.
Hitchhiking in the middle of a lightning storm with an
umbrella crazy? No. But definitely wacky Uncle Al type of crazy who is always a good time
at Thanksgiving but doesn’t exactly warrant an invite to meet your girlfriend’s
family. Nuts crazy. Loony crazy. A screw is loose somewhere and probably won’t be found crazy.
But well-meaning and fun-loving enough to earn him a seat next to your Aunt
Martha and right by the cranberry sauce year after year.
Full disclosure: I work in the environmental sciences, so this includes
me as well. I am ok with that.
I’m coming up on the end of my first year at an
environmental nonprofit in Boston. I’ve acquired many skills and life lessons including
but not limited to: nonprofit strategy, networking tips, the ability to be on
two phone calls at the same time, and enough business cards to make an ugly and
uncomfortable quilt for a 2-D man. I’ve met incredible people, made some amazing friends, and at times felt as though I was living in a tv documentary about wacky
offices and their workers, or as though Ashton Kutcher had given up punking
celebrities and decided to target an ordinary young woman. This ordinary young
woman was especially concerned last Tuesday that there had been a full 20
minutes of a company meeting spent talking about Justin Bieber, a topic of
which she was uniquely and ashamedly equipped to contribute.
It goes without saying that as an environmental
organization we are a bit more plugged into the sustainability movement. I’ve always
considered myself qualifiably crunchy. I went through a long vegetarian phase, a laughably
short vegan phase, a tendency to unplug all the appliances not in use phase,
and, like other plaid-loving hippies, developed an undying devotion to the Discovery Channel’s “Planet Earth”
series. But this last year I’ve come to
realize that I can’t hold a candle to some of the people in my line of work. In
my mind’s eye I thought I was Captain Planet, but really I was just a cuter version
of Hoggish Greedly.
This past year, I have been yelled at for throwing away adhesive sticky
tape because, and I quote, I could “use it again.” I’ve had my nostrils
overtaken with the rich aroma of fruits and veggies being broken down by the
office vermiculture bin. (For those of you who don’t compost, vermiculture is
composting with worms. You’re welcome.) I’ve
been questioned about the amount of water I use while washing dishes, and I’ve
been openly chastised for using a space-heater in the middle of winter even
though the building’s heat had given up somewhere around the middle of
February.
One especially enlightening event happened the day I
walked into work and realized that the office garbage can was missing. After
asking around, I soon discovered that it had been recycled. Not our garbage,
mind you- the garbage can itself. I was told that it had been a "health hazard"and that by not having a garbage can so readily available would help me reduce the
amount of waste I produced.
For the next week, I grew a rebellious pile of my leftover
food and assorted sundries on the corner of my desk. Part of me wanted to make a social statement , and the other part was too lazy to walk it to the trash can next door. There were stacks of stained plastic coffee cups from the times I had forgotten
to take a mug with me to the coffee shop, individual greek yogurt containers- because buying a large container and dishing it out every morning seemed to be
too much of a hassle-, gum wrappers and candy wrappers and banana peels and foil
from lunches and scraps of paper that were filled with many underlined and
circled words and small pictures of stars.
There is nothing like feeling righteously indignant until you realize that, hey, the other person was kind of right. I do consume a lot. Maybe getting rid of the garbage can was a touch extreme, but I rarely ever forget my coffee mug now. For some situations, it really can’t hurt to drink the kool-aid.
There is nothing like feeling righteously indignant until you realize that, hey, the other person was kind of right. I do consume a lot. Maybe getting rid of the garbage can was a touch extreme, but I rarely ever forget my coffee mug now. For some situations, it really can’t hurt to drink the kool-aid.
Perhaps we’re all a bit nutty because we care too
much. There’s a strong sense of pride in being over-worked and under-paid, of
caring passionately about something and actively trying to change all those bad
things that keep you up at night. Does getting rid of a garbage can or stacking
banana peels on your desk so you can feed your plastic bin of worms at the end
of the week really make a difference? I’m not sure. But even if I have to walk
outside to throw my trash away, or use my beloved space-heater less often in the
harsh Cambridge winter, I like to think it’s all worth it. I’m a little less
bright-eyed and bushy-tailed than when I first began. But, at the end of the
day, come hell or high-college-loan interest rates, I love what I do. If I have
to be a little crazy to do it, then yee-haw.