The Irony of Recycling

I admit that I dragged my feet on ordering a recycling bin from the City of Jacksonville. We moved about four and a half months ago, and I just called the 630-CITY number to order my bin.

The irony? Recycling bins are on a 90-day backorder.

Really? Why in the world should it take three months to get one plastic bin to my house so I can recycle? Is the bin plated in gold? Does it have my name engraved on it? Are recycling bins in such demand throughout the state of Florida that there aren’t enough to go around?

And while I think it’s great that there are so many people in the city who want to recycle, it is also a shame that they are prevented from helping the environment because of the inadequacies of local government.

I believe that more people would recycle here if bins were provided automatically with trash cans. Admittedly, many recycling bins would sit, unused. But many more people would adopt the “why not” attitude if recycling was more convenient.

Baby Steps

Psychiatrist: You care too much about the world. You take it all too seriously. You need to lighten up.

Me: But there are people dying of malaria in Africa. Malaria. Really. And then there’s the homeless. And there are poor people right here in our little town. People who have to decide whether to have dinner or pay the light bill. And there are old people who are lonely, and young people who have no friends, and people who don’t have running water…

Psychiatrist: So what are you doing to help? And why do you think you can change all of that?

I am an idealist. I firmly believe that if we all work toward a common goal, that it can be achieved, no matter the cost. But one of things that makes the world so great — diversity — is also one of the things that prevents everyone from working together.

Catch 22.

I wrote about this briefly in Gifts, where I mentioned my struggle to discover how best to use my talents. I bring it up again because of a comment my father left on that post:

Just remember that when God made the world, he made it of lots of small pieces. The largest mountain is made of many small stones. Each one plays its part and is important in its own right. If we wait for the one big thing we think we should do with our lives, we may be missing the many opportunities to do lots of small things that bring happiness, help and hope to others.

Thanks for the advice, Dad. I’ll still worry about malaria in Africa, but I’m going to cut myself a little more slack. Instead of waiting for my big chance to save the world, I’m going to work a little harder at the small things. Baby steps. It’s all about baby steps…

On the death of Alexander Solzhenitsyn

This morning I was saddened to note that the writing community lost an important, if controversial voice. Alexander Solzhenitsyn died on Sunday at the age of 89. Last month, while unpacking a box of books, I came across my copy of One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich . After I finished organizing the bookshelf, I spent a few hours re-reading Solzhenitsyn’s most famous novel.

One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich details 24-hours in the life of a political prisoner in a Russian gulag, or prison camp. The story highlights the camp’s harsh conditions, and concentrates mainly on the importance of survival. Though Ivan Denisovich’s story is fiction, it was based on Solzhenitsyn’s own seven-year imprisonment in the 1950’s.

Reading One Day reminded me again of the cruelty humans can unleash upon other humans. Even now how many people are held as political prisoners, caught up in the intrigues of nations? How many of the accused are as innocent as Ivan Denisovich? How many are guilty of treason or crimes of terrorism? How many are incarcerated only because they spoke against oppression? How many prisoners will perish at the hands of government officials, their objections forever silenced?

Though I don’t necessarily believe that the Western ideal of democracy is the right form of government for every nation, I do feel blessed to live in a country where I can express my beliefs without prejudice. Alexander Solzhenitsyn was exiled from his motherland for writing about his experiences in the gulag. He exercised his literary voice at the expense of his Russian citizenship and his home.

I often take my right to write for granted. I can type a blog post on any subject and remain free of persecution. I can write a novel about anything, create a website about anything, as long as I don’t infringe on the rights of others. But even today, there are many who are not as fortunate as I.

As writers we would all do well to remember that we have a unique opportunity to speak out against the issues we oppose. Alexander Solzhenitsyn was one voice, one pen. His novels revealed the inhumane conditions to which Russian political prisoners were exposed. His legacy forever changed the world’s view of the USSR.

What can your pen do?