As I walk our dog, I sometimes find myself picking up trash. It amazes me that people throw stuff on the ground, sometimes from their cars.
When I was little, the dear mother of some friends I grew up with was a “trash picker.” Her name was Melinda and whenever we took walks around the neighborhood, I remember she’d gather bits of junk, collect them in a plastic bag, then toss them in a garbage can. In my childhood, I felt she was taking the idea of goodness and responsibility a bit far.
But twenty-five years later, I’m picking up trash, too. It makes my corner of the world a little nicer. And maybe keeps more people from throwing their trash on the ground.
Does it also make my day happier? Gretchen Rubin thinks so. I do feel like I’ve “got something done,” although I also worry that my neighbors may start saying to themselves, when they see me through their windows:
“Oh Howard, there’s that trash-picker lady out there again.”
