Picking Up Trash

It's funny, the simple signs that reveal the state of our mental health. For me, it's picking up trash on my walks.

It took me a long time to notice this particular pattern, but with the incessant amounts of trash on the road, I had plenty of time to unfurl its significance. I think the meditative act of walking helped me to slow down (metaphorically) and tune into this inner voice.

On good days, I pick up trash.

On bad days, I don't.

On good days, I set out on my walks with an annoyingly optimistic pep in my step, and I begin with the first piece of trash I see. Whether it's a tiny piece of plastic from a candy wrapper or a large poke bowl with ants crawling all over it, I pick it up and hold it proudly. I continue this until I find the nearest trashcan, sometimes carrying handfuls of trash for a half mile or so. I cram as many pieces into each other as I can, strategically holding them to optimize my trash carrying abilities. I smile at people as I hold mismatched beer cans, vapes, spamasubi wrappers, and chip bags. I dance to the music in my earbuds and sing to the world.

On bad days, I see a singular straw on the ground within 5 feet of a trashcan, and I keep walking. I cannot begin to bend over, pick up this puny piece of litter, and carry it along with my other problems. It would be the straw that broke the Cassie's back.

I melt into my brain, puddling with all of the anxiety and conversation playbacks of the week. Drowning in my thoughts, I let the trash around me sit and decay.

I've learned not to beat myself up about it. If I can't bring myself to pick up a small plastic baggy or a broken pen, I take a deep breath and focus on feeling my body as I walk. I acknowledge that I am now the person who sees trash and walks by it, because sometimes that is ok. Sometimes that is what I need, but not who I am.

There have even been times where I walk past pieces of trash for days in a row. The trash is in no rush, and I take note of it. It will wait for me to feel ok again, because I always do.

And when I'm finally feeling a rise in my serotonin, I decisively pick it up and throw it away with a swell in my heart.