It's not easy being GREEN

I always considered myself a bit of a ‘greenie’. I like whales. I’m from Tasmania (green in part by definition) and I wash-to-recycle plastic and aluminum containers. I have attended my fair share of anti and for rallies in my time, and have even donated hours to ‘green’ charity groups. However, a spontaneous move and quick house-hunt in Sydney swiftly sorted out my shade of urban green.

In trawling through advertisements for house shares, I was drawn towards city dwellings claiming to be ‘eco’. The explanations of eco-house assertions were many and varied; including declarations of: worm farms, compost, water recycling, chicken coops, veggie patches and non-smoking housemates. Availability of natural light, floorboards throughout, access to public transport and room sharing within a house-share were frequently touted as being ‘environmentally positive’. One ad even specified that practicing yogis need only apply for their eco-loving-inner-city-herb-growing-terrace.

Applying for residence in an environment saving abode was an altogether special battlefield of open-ended questions, recycled hypotheticals and forced proclamation of voting preferences. Depending on the size of the room available and presence of own terrace verandah led by one’s own French doors, I found myself nodding in agreement to all types of quizative (husband was instructed to follow my lead; back me up; support unfamiliar hobby claims). Miraculously, my own yoga habit became a fully-fledged profession ‘sure. I’ve got no trouble instructing an advanced yoga class for your friends in the garage. Tell me again how nice the breeze is on the verandah of a summer eve…’. Further, I became a gardening, mediation, cooking, (all kinds of) baking, and dhikr-breathing enthusiast.

Alas. Mouldy fibbing was not the answer. These folk must have seen through my elaborations, gifting other properly nimble couples with easy summer breezings. Damned with stretched blessings in disguise, I had one more circled house in which to redeem. As a promise to myself, and a gift to dear nodding husband, I vowed to not green-xaggerate for this one and we got it. Two small floor-boarded rooms for us in an Inner West Sydney share. Tick!

As previously expressed, though aware that I could be more pro-active in my greenness, I thought that I made some reasonable contributions to loving AND living on this increasingly damaged Earth. Within two weeks of sharing a space with two other fellows, I realised, along with Kermit, that it is ‘not [so] easy being green’. While embracing with ease the recycling and power-saving routines established in our new shared residence, it was the worm farm and water recycling that quickly had me unstuck.

Respect to those who can get everything done in the shower in four minutes flat. I soon learnt that I cannot. The once considered ‘thoughtful’ house sharing gift of a suction cap sand-timer for the shower became a grainy vice that beat me every time. I was pleased with household efforts to save, and where possible, redistribute washing up water, but I begun to over-think efforts to do much the same with shower and bath water. Would the parsley become pubic with stray hairs? I was buying my own herbs.

Then there is the worm farm. The indoor black boxed crawly home. It is filled with worm shit. Worm shit and rotting vegetables stink. Who would have thought…?

The weeks have passed and despite occasional wormed dry reaching and hiding of extended shower and hair-dryer time under the cover of very loud meditative hymns, I have begun to applaud the household efforts of green. And have included myself in my ovation. Saving water and worm farming might be their thing but I contribute to shades of green in my own way. My house mates might baulk at my vegetarian diet when they insist on maintaining a predominately grain fed, land intensive and water wasting carnivorous existence. But that is their composting choice…