Death, Taxes and Plastic

I have a tendency to overcook my eggs. I know this about myself, and yet I habitually turn on the stove too high and get distracted in my hopeful and caffeinated ambitions of the new day. I know not to stray too far- I’ll need to turn down the temperature immediately or risk ruining my eggs altogether. When I decide it’s almost too late- just at the moment I must act- I turn my attention back to the eggs with swift and immediate action. I’ll turn the knob, or sometimes, I’ll yank the pan off the burner altogether and hold them for second or two.

My eggs are always within reach as they cook. Their increasing nervousness in the pan occupies almost all of my senses - sight, smell, sounds. This is why I never actually allow my eggs to burn - the consequences are in front of me at every moment. No one I know would just stand there and watch their eggs burn.

My first plastic toy that I can remember, Alphie- whose understanding of fried eggs stemmed largely from Nancy Reagan’s Just Say No commercial campaign.

We could change our behaviors when the consequences are immediate, but many people could not be convinced to floss their teeth on a regular basis if Teeny Little Super Guy himself popped out of the medicine cabinet to remind them. The threat of gum disease is too far off of a distant concept for them to commit. We lose sight of the incredible wash of small but important behaviors that could use modification in our day-to-day lives.

Three things in life are certain: death and taxes and plastic. Plastic never disappears. Every plastic thing I've ever owned is still out there in some form. I reach back and think as far as I can go. I wonder if my Barbie Ferrari could possibly be clean, in a bag. Maybe it lived in another house and then got bagged up more recently. Maybe the newer owner had a Ken doll. Where did it land? Did it cross an ocean twice in its lifetime? I think of all the Kens and Barbies in the world, living happily ever after.

Photo: Ebay.

Think of all the plastic things, preserved in their own plastic coffins. I think about things like plastic diapers in landfills, in quiet piles- sitting there as the lifetimes go by. Other plastic ends up getting tossed around in city streets, degrading further and further into microscopic pieces, like a stick of chalk that gets ground up into the very focal point of a lesson, all eyes in attention and study- a pattern of the finest dust across the slate- so small that it gets wiped away and you wonder where it even went - so small you question whether it was ever there to begin with.

Twitter - @machadoaas. Phytoplankton ingest microplastics in our oceans

If the reasoning behind taking action is too far off in the future, one of the things we can do is set ourselves up for behavior changes in a more systemic, organized way so that we don’t have to have to deal with them (and fail) in the immediate moments that don’t feel very immediate. If we commit to supporting diaper companies that are committed to using alternative materials to fossil fuel byproducts, the choice can become embedded into the fabric of our daily lives. But to accomplish that, we must act as though our eggs are ablaze in this very moment.

I think about what happens when the world moves beyond a time when there are taxes. Maybe even beyond a time where there is life or death in this world. Beyond Nancy Reagan and her fried egg commercial. My Barbie Ferrari will still be there, in that world beyond death and taxes- in a shape or form I might not recognize, but there.