Lifting the Lid 

The entire point of my quest was to find trash around Worcester and photograph it. I, however, did not touch a single piece of trash the entire time. Instead, I chose to fade into the background. The smell of the trash and its unknown contents were daunting enough for me to place the responsibility on the people around me eagerly. It was much easier to let others bear the burden. My philosophy surrounding the quest drew an alarming parallel to my philosophy surrounding climate change. I chose to dissociate, as it was easier to handle. I viewed climate change as a lost cause, as a war we would eventually lose, and therefore, one that was not worth fighting. As a result, I chose to keep the lid on the dumpsters and, like the majority of the population, act as if climate change was not there at all.

Therefore, I positioned myself in the rear of my group. I simply followed my peers along the streets of Worcester, watching them open dumpsters, take photos, and examine what was inside. I followed them to Dunkin Donuts where they decided to take a photograph. When a member of the group suggested someone go inside the store and distract, I eagerly volunteered. I went inside and ordered myself a drink. Two of my peers ordered drinks as well. We walked out of the store, excited to view see the photographs our group had captured.  They showed me all of the photos they had taken. I saw dumpsters overflowing with trash, spilling out half-eaten food, plastic bags, and cardboard boxes. I noticed a Mcdonald's box in multiple of the photos. I had the same box the night prior. Still, I did not have a strong emotional reaction to the photos, as photos bearing a strong resemblance to this graced the cover of virtually every National Geographic Magazine I received. I could handle the articles, the facts, and the pictures. The screen, or ironically, the paper, served as a barrier. I refused to see the actual trash around me. It was as if not seeing the trash meant it was not actually there. As long as I stayed behind my protective barrier of the screens and the articles, I could convince myself that my trash was not being photographed. I could convince myself that I was not part of the problem.

After the group took a substantial number of photos, we decided to venture off the busy street onto a far less crowded road that led to a park. My peer's put away their phones as they joked about the Veteran’s meat auction sign we saw. I was laughing about this when we passed a small girl, talking and giggling with her mother. She was carrying her Dora lunch box, which bore a remarkable resemblance to the lunch box I had as a kid. She reminded me of myself, and it scared me. I put down my phone and watched her. She sneezed directly inside her lunchbox. I laughed with my friends, told her “bless you”, and watched her pass by. My friends continued their joking, but I stopped laughing. I looked back at the girl. She crossed the street with her mother and walked towards a daycare. I felt my stomach drop. So, I did what I do best. I avoided it. I looked away. 

It was then that I saw what I thought was a glimmer of hope. Trees lined the sidewalk and I looked in. I thought I saw a stream within the collection of trees, but I was terribly mistaken. Hidden within the trees themselves, there was a seemingly endless amount of trash. For the first time all day, I saw the trash my city had created. I felt as if the trash was confronting me, forcing me not to look away. The trash was forcing me to realize that regardless of the time I spent denying the reality that was climate change, the issue was not going anywhere. I could stow it away, and save it for later, but climate change would not wait. It felt wrong to let another piece of evidence go unnoticed. So, I took my first photo of the day, documenting the real effects of climate change on my city. The scenery was unnerving, with piles of litter occupying the spots where the autumn leaves were expected, and puddles not filled with water, but with excess amounts of coke, liquor, and other beverages. One picture turned into twenty-four. With every step I took, there was more trash to be photographed. The amount of trash seemed virtually endless. As I photographed chip bags, and shoes, I became acutely aware of the heat. It was a mid-October weekend yet I could feel the sun beaming down on my neck. I questioned my choice of attire suddenly. I wished I had not worn a sweatshirt. I felt trapped in my clothes, and the decisions I had made. I felt trapped in the reality of the situation. I finished my Dunkin Donuts drink. My overwhelming anger dampened, as guilt seeped into my consciousness as we approached the little girl’s daycare. Our Dunkin Donuts cups were now drained, and my peers noticed a trash can in the daycare’s parking lot. While they took their photos, I peered at the “lake” beside the school. The small amounts of water still remaining were dark brown. I glanced at my feet, noticing the Chips Ahoy bag that was pinned to the railing of the school. It was flapping in the wind as if it was trying to get away. The bag itself seemed embarrassed to be there. My classmates returned and showed me the photos they had taken. I covered my eyes from the sun beating down on me and looked at the photo. One thing caught my eye. Three Dunkin Donuts cups lay atop the trash. We threw away our own Dunkin Donuts in the trash bin behind her daycare as we took photographs that would be used to write an essay about how “society” destroyed our planet. As if for some reason “society” includes everyone but us. As if society included everyone but me. Society, however, did include me. I was part of the problem. The trash in the photographs was my own. My mind raced as I tried to think of an excuse.  Producing trash was hard to avoid, right? That was an excuse anyone could use. Like our planet, my excuses deteriorated quickly. I thought again of the little girl. I thought of her walking along this same street at my age. She will not remember me, but I will be someone she blames. When this little girl writes her essay, I will not be seen as an innocent bystander, but as someone who had an abundance of excuses and ignorantly casts this issue into the back of my mind. With every step she takes, she will be forced to confront the world we left her with. She will not be able to deny anything. This girl would grow up in a world where she does not have the privilege of turning the other cheek and denying the issue. While the situation seems dire now, and climate change is hard to ignore, it is still possible. This was a privilege that I had abused. This was a privilege this girl will never have. 

If nothing changes this girl will grow up in a world where there is nothing she can do. All hope will be lost. She will not spend her time studying for her future, because her future will not exist. All she can do is watch as our planet destroys humanity. Her childhood and the childhoods of those who come after her will not be haunted by monsters under her bed but by the monsters, we have fabricated as a by-product of society’s negligence. We ignorantly treated this planet as if we have another one to go to. We treat it as if she will have another one to go to. We do not get a second chance, and at this rate, this girl will not even get a first one. Unlike me, she will not see climate change as a war. There will be no battle to be fought. All climate change will be to her is her reality. While the future is still bleak, we have not lost all control. So, we might as well lift the lid, climb in, and embrace the smell of the trash that we created, because choosing to ignore something, sadly, does not make it go away.