My mascara is nearly dry. I hate, hate our dish soap. My undergarments are in the worst shape in my 31 years of life and my clothes keep ripping in unfixable ways. The skin on my face is slowly resembling that of a crocodile’s. I’m having cheddar withdrawals. My last razor is near dull. My house is soaking up all the rain and beginning to bloom – inside. We were flooded with little plastic bits on Valentine’s Day. I’m driving every freaking day. My mother brought us chips in a plastic bag, a plastic princess wrapped with plastic ties in a plastic box and ground beef to cook for her dogs…I thought she got it? I ordered meat balls at a restaurant not realizing that they were full of beef until the order was cooked and at our table – they went to the compost we couldn’t bare to eat them. I dropped a glass jar on the floor at the grocery store and it shattered everywhere. I mean everywhere.
I am on the verge of a nuclear melt down. MELT DOWN.
But then, as I was filling up a ball jar with palm oil free sesame sticks a middle aged woman chatted me up about my jars. She listened graciously as I went on about how every little bit helps and it made putting my groceries away so much easier. She transferred her items to glass jars when she got home too. Then she unloaded a thousand questions and complimented me on my efforts. I saw her again two weeks later, with a few jars in her cart. We smiled at one another and went on our way.
Another day as I was ordering my meat, the handsome man behind the counter stopped and asked me how it was going. How it was really going. He said he felt really inspired and had been reading articles about it. He asked me to keep him updated and share tips and expressed optimism that he and his family could make the leap. I was thrilled; the meat counter sometimes felt like my greatest obstacle, but clearly that is not the case. If only the not so friendly cheese guy could drink the palm oil free, fair trade, sustainably raised, no plastic, dye free kool aid.
I may be struggling to find the right place to buy my next pair of socks or desperately missing my face lotion but change is happening. I must trudge on, there are people all over the world who would who love to complain about dry mascara on a Thursday night. Perspective Lily, perspective.