Away

     I've always had an uneasy relationship with the act of throwing things away.  Like most things this deeply felt, it's been with me from childhood and probably has no clear incident at its root.  For one thing, as a child, throwing things out probably means that you were pressed into some pointless cleaning exercise like straightening your room.  Maybe you spent too many Wednesday nights dragging heavy metal trash cans to the curb.  So, it's bound to carry some negative associations.  For another thing, growing up poor means your small catalog of thing you have is diminishing by one every time something goes in the trash.  You think twice about it when you live under the cloud of never having enough.  If something could still be useful, you tend to hang on to it because it saves you doing without in the future.  In my house, all our hand-me-down clothes were handed down through five sisters and into the rag-bag after they became unwearable.  Often, these clothes would start second hand from older cousins or garage sales, and if there was still life in them when we were done, they'd go to younger relatives.  Pretty much everything followed this pattern, toys, furnishings, bicycles, anything that still had use was reused.  Even boxes and cans found new duties, and wrapping paper was always carefully removed to cover smaller and smaller gifts on holidays and birthdays.  The idea of throwing out something useful was alien, and when there was no other logical course because a thing was beyond usability, it was usually laid to rest with deep regrets.  Then, of course, there are the things you hold onto because they were gifts or mementos.  These are so laden with sentimental value you could never dream of throwing them away.  Such emotional attachments are often much stronger than the logic that tells you they are still only things.  Despite my practical and generally non-materialistic outlook, I still have an aged and well-hugged teddy bear on the shelf in my bedroom.  I can justify his presence because he's still absorbent enough to soak up a few more tears and some excess love.

     All this childhood training in examining the usefulness of things has continued into adulthood along with that sense of sin at discarding things.  It means that I still browse thrift stores and garage sales when I need something, and that outgrown clothes or objects will be donated if there's any usefulness left.  Flourishing recycling programs have helped me feel better about many types of materials that accumulate from household activity.  Items I can't personally reuse will still not be wasted resources.  It's a boon in a world where industry has given in to consumer demand for over-packaging.  The obsession with "clean and new" tends to result in a culture of disposable items where avoiding the individually-wrapped is next to impossible.  At least some of it is being reborn through recycling.

     Composting has been another help in the struggle with throwing things out.  For the longest time, I mourned every rotten vegetable I had to put in the trash.  I regretted tossing the peels or ends of things I couldn't use in certain preparations.  It seemed so wasteful.  Again, a childhood where hunger is a reality teaches you to value any source of nourishment.  Add some professional kitchen training to that, and you learn the economy of using as much as possible and minimizing waste.  But you also learn the dangers of vegetables that have been lingering too long in the pantry.  Since we invested in a backyard compost bin, the guilt is mitigated somewhat.  I may not have finished all of that cabbage before it went bad, but some microbes will be very happy, and it's loads of good nutrients to feed the garden later.  Recycled tomatoes are pretty tasty.  Though we've never been ones for bagging up autumn leaves and sending them off in the garbage truck, there's a little extra satisfaction when we're able to stir them into the composter and transform one season's end into new beginnings.

     That concept of transformation is at the heart of the matter.  People often have an unrealistic idea of the act of throwing things away.  Toss it in the can.  Take it to the curb.  It's gone.  Everything is clean and new. But really, nothing goes away.  The system is closed.  What we use and what we discard can only be transformed, so it's our responsibility to do both in the most beneficial fashion possible.  We need to be conscious of how we affect those transformations because we will be living with the results.  People who live a little closer to their environment seem to understand this a little better.  Pre-industrial civilizations certainly threw things away, but they probably didn't generate quite as many cans worth as the average American household does each week.  They'd probably be astonished at some of the good stuff we abandon, too.

     In the modern world, it requires a change in thought processes to move away from the illusion that trash is just gone.  There has to be a commitment to do what's not always easy, but people are showing they're capable of that kind of change.  Communities all over the world are embracing the concepts of responsible waste management.  It's a bit slower to catch on here in the USA than in places like Canada or Wales, but individuals are gradually shifting the view even here.  The economic benefits are swaying some cities and companies to think greener, while health concerns are influencing others.  But whatever the reasons, choices to reduce unnecessary waste and to start community recycling or composting programs are steps in the right direction.  We may never be able to eliminate our impact on our environment.  All creatures leave traces of their passage, and humans are no different.  But with wisdom, we can avoid the most glaring scars, and we can all feel a little better about throwing things away.