While strolling through a mostly empty park today, I stumbled upon a loose plastic bag being viciously carried by a strong gust of wind. As I watched the see-through vessel, I was reminded of how we’re all just tattered, disposed garbage being randomly thrown about by the gales of life. I then wondered if anyone has ever been so bold as to compare human life to garbage in any capacity, at any point of time. I concluded that I had to of been the first one to ever do this. Ever.
But allow me to put a cap on my creative genius as it is only matched by my humility and intelligence and looks and syntax and focus. Perhaps looking at garbage shouldn’t remind me of life. Perhaps it should remind me that I consistently throw my waste out of the window in my kitchen, leaving the life of my garbage to sail on a journey created by the winds. My neighbors do their best to intervene, telling me it is illegal to let my garbage fly freely through the streets, yet I continue my endeavors.
Who am I to tell the two-month-old leftover pizza in my fridge that it is not allowed to venture into the world, gliding majestically from street corner to street corner? And how could I possibly turn down the opportunity to act as a catalyst to such an adventure for my probably not-organic-or-safe-for-the-environment-in-any-regard waste?
Alas, we are back to life. It seems to me that the best way to look at this constant relationship between garbage and life is to stand back, open your kitchen window, and ignore whatever happens when you empty your trashcan into the streets. I know I do. And I know you will.