I descend from a pragmatist and a tree hugger. The combination makes me a conscientious employer of resources for all the most practical reasons. For example, I drive a hybrid vehicle, but I didn’t choose it based on its relatively low emissions, rather because I was able to buy it on good terms. I consider it a bonus that it averages 40 miles to the gallon, a decided advantage to my budget. That it uses electricity instead of fuel half the time is a fact I can barely understand, let alone appreciate. It’s cheaper. That’s good enough for me.
I use CFLs because they last longer than ordinary light bulbs, but I only buy them on sale. I use a clothes dryer to save time over the ironing board. I let the kids play in the hose, but run the dishwasher on the light cycle.
In the hot months, I open all the windows in the evening and place fans in them so the cool air finds a home inside. During the day, the windows and blinds are closed, so the heat doesn’t do the same. I use the air conditioning as little as I can manage. This might win me some laud among the tree hugger ilk—noble sacrifice for the sake of the earth. But no. It’s just cheaper, and fresher, and it somehow seems right. If less will do, it is sensible not to use more.
When we lived in a home that had curbside recycling pick up, I was an avid and careful recycler. Now we live in a place that does not offer such service, so I’m afraid only the things with redemption value get set apart. Yes, I do experience some guilt over this, a thing which should appease you activists. But for me, this guilt strains at the borders of pragmatism, so I largely ignore it. If I went all out to recycle my cereal boxes and such, it would be at the expense of my space and time, which are also valuable resources.
My pragmatist grandmother saved bread bags because they came in handy on trips. She saved her newspapers for the boy scouts in her neighborhood because it gave them something productive to do. She was even known to place a whole onion in the oven in order to make the house smell like dinner was cooking all afternoon long. She said it made her husband appreciate her simple dinners more. Okay, so that last one is more an example of genius than pragmatism, but still. The point is I’m quite sure my grandmother had never heard of global warming. She just employed no-nonsense practices in her daily life.
My tree hugger father, who held conservation as a core value, taught me the adage “use it up, wear it out, make it do or do without.” Yet he chose plastic bags, not paper, at the grocery store because they made convenient hand-held receptacles for the litter he picked up on his daily jogs. He donated much toward the preservation of the giant redwoods and hiked often among their trunks, yet he arrived at them in a very comfortable car.
On one side I have an exemplar who was practical and therefore conserved, on the other one who conserved in the most practical ways. The most memorable of lessons I learned as a child came from both my pragmatist side and my tree-hugger side. I learned that if you’re finished with a thing, there is often another use for it. If you go someplace, it’s reasonable to leave it in better shape than you found it. If you want to save money, it behooves you to take good care of the things you have.
I would suggest we all examine the reasons we do the things we do. Socio-political pressure should never be one of them. Whether we identify more with the pragmatist or the tree hugger, we can all be reflective and deliberate about our choices. Rest assured, practicality and conservation can coexist in peace.
