It’s been a while since I last wrote for GLiving. Apparently, they’ve changed their style a bit. Formerly, as an eco-blogger there, my task was to take any old green story or product and simply rattle off my witty feelings about it.
But now, having been invited to write for them yet again, I find that Gliving has shifted towards a more lifestyle-oriented approach. I’ve been asked to get personal. To pick something “G”, that I am passionate about, and to actually write what I know for once, instead of just what I feel.
Which I think is groovy. I love the new direction. I love that the people who write there really know what they are talking about.
Unfortunately, I don’t know if I fit into this category. Sure, I know about what I feel, but what do I know about what I actually do? “G” speaking, of course. Beyond my politics, what exactly makes me green?
As I started to think about my own “G” lifestyle, specifically the parts worth writing about, nothing really came to mind.
I recycle. Sure. What kind of evil bloodsucker doesn’t? But while I may be a bit more obsessive about it then most, I still wouldn’t consider it a lifestyle choice. Heck, with how much I rinse my recyclables, I probably waste more water than I save landfill space.
I guess I don’t drive much; that’s “G”, right? But that’s more a result of having no place to go.
I choose draught tolerant plants, but that’s only because I can’t keep any other kind alive.
I shop at Trader Joes, for the most part. I even use my own grocery bags. But I refuse to buy their dishwasher soap. I’m sorry, but the world will end a lot sooner if I have water spots. And mostly I just like cheap wine.
I rescued a dog, but that’s only because when I looked into his eyes Chicago’s “You’re The Inspiration” started playing down from the heavens.
Maybe I’m just not cut out to be “G”? Maybe somewhere in the back of my mind I feel like the green movement is too much like my Jewish mother. Kvetch! Kvetch! Kvetch! Nothing but grief.
And I’m just not motivated by guilt, cause I know, I can never be good enough.
But unlike Mother Pockross, Mother Earth will not love me unconditionally.