I often feel overwhelmed by what I think of as my generation’s responsibility to clean up the messes that it and preceding generations have left all over the planet. Whether it’s environmental catastrophes perpetrated in the name of cheap goods or a swirling new continent of plastic flotsam in the Pacific, whether it’s a village torn apart because a country is still dealing with ramifications of being defined by borders drawn by foreign powers a century ago, or a family forced from a home they could afford after losing jobs due to the collapse of a system financing houses that other people couldn’t afford—what’s an individual to do? I often have to turn off the radio, put in a CD, and drive to work blasting music instead of the news. Heavens bless The White Stripes.
Thinking globally and acting locally seems the only attainable goal for me. Sometimes that means as local as the bathroom and kitchen. I’ve stuck with a couple of decisions I made a few months ago about my daily living that, in retrospect, belong together in the category of things I can do that will make a difference.
When my can of shaving cream sputtered its last flecks of foam into my hand, it was the weekend and a couple of days out from a regular shopping trip. I have a shaving brush and a mug of soap, so I was set. When I got to the men’s products aisle the next time, I reached for the Gillette and stopped. Was this really a more convenient way to shave? Did I actually save any time splurting cream into my hand rather than lathering up a brush? Sure, maybe thirty seconds. What was the trade-off? A couple of dollars every month or so to buy a can I’d add to the landfill. When I thought about the energy and resources needed to make the can and plastic nozzle, create the propellant, inject the foam and and seal it, package and transport it, I realized I just couldn’t justify it.
Williams Shaving Soap has been around since 1840. A cake lasts probably twice as long as a can of shaving cream. It gives a better shave. It comes in a small recyclable pressboard box (which even appeals to my love of solid design). Why would I go back?
I’ve been a coffee snob since before Starbuck’s busted out of Seattle. (I hate that term, though. Am I a cheese snob if I like Vermont cheddar more than American slices? A beer snob if I reach for a local brown ale rather than Budweiser?) I grind my beans and use a French press to make my daily rocket fuel, have done since college in the mid-eighties. When the puppy in his crazed house-destroying phase knocked the coffee grinder to the floor, smashed the plastic housing, and chewed off the cord, my knee-jerk immediate plan was to buy another grinder. Gotta have freshly ground coffee.
Again I stopped to think about it. I buy my freshly roasted beans from Prime Roast and use a pound every couple of weeks. In what way would even the last pot made from the bag not be fresh if they ground the beans for me? I was a fresh coffee snob. I realized that letting them do it would save me the hassle, the noise, and the electricity of doing it myself. Surely their commercial grinder churning up a whole pound at once would use a lot less energy than my daily pot’s worth.
So I shave with the brush again and leave the grinding to the professionals. My carbon footprint and contribution to the waste stream are each a little bit smaller. And sometimes when the steaming mug of coffee is on the sink next to the lathery mug of soap, I can imagine myself wiping my partially shaved face with a towel to answer the door with my pistol drawn, just in case.