I was indoctrinated into the world of ardent recycling 10 years ago when I moved to Tofino to learn how to surf.
My day job consisted of assisting a couple - an infamous, fiery local duo - with their kayaking and bookstore businesses. Passionate environmentalists, they were meticulous recyclers with the highest ideals.
Hired for my liberal outlook and passion for the great outdoors, I was immediately subjected to a vigourous workshop at the town's local recycling depot. I remember looking on incredulously as my employers picked out individual envelopes to remove the plastic windows while flattening crumpled pieces of paper and receipts. I had never before witnessed such a demonstration of devotion and caring for the Earth. Recycling had always been the annoying chore that I'd hurry to get done without reflecting on the quality of my efforts, but it didn't take long for me to catch on.
I soon learned, however, that my new behaviour was regarded by most as extreme, something akin to religious fundamentalism.
After moving back to the city and joining the corporate sector, I was nicknamed the "hippie surfer chick" because of my insistence on reducing the amount of paper the company used each year and endured many tired old jokes about eating granola. Ultimately, however, I was successful and the company switched from an archaic paper filing system to electronic records.
My determination to help save the planet grew, and I accepted a position managing a magazine committed to health and the environment. But when a new owner switched from printing on "post-consumer recycled" paper (virgin paper already used by consumers, then converted and reused) to the less ideal "recycled" paper (still contains a high percentage tree fibre that is mixed with some post-consumer content) and continued to advertise the post-consumer symbol on the magazine's masthead, I left and moved to Whistler.
In hindsight, it wasn't a particularly brilliant career move - most people don't know to distinguish between the two types anyway - but I was passionate about my cause and Whistler had an epic snowfall that year, which alleviated any woes.
I've seen my fair share of recycling disasters since I moved to Sea to Sky country. One roommate's methodology was to throw everything out then let the full bags of garbage pile up outside on the balcony. The heaping piles of excess waste he managed to generate made me sick to my stomach and I moved out, taking my blue boxes with me.
I recently watched the Clean Bin Project, the 2010 hit documentary by an East Vancouver couple who decide together to buy nothing (except food) for a year and compete to see who can produce the least amount of garbage. After 365 days of dedicated reduce, reuse and recycle, their end result was one small bin each and arguably one of the most candid and humorous films I've ever seen.
Their cutting-edge approach - a reminder of my own strict training in Tofino's recycling depot so many years ago - has inspired me to tackle the endless over-packaging of products with renewed vigour. Assisted by the local eco-friendly recycling amenities, I'm happy to report I haven't had to contribute to the landfill in weeks, but my awareness of plastic's presence everywhere is growing and so is my disgruntlement.
On a recent winter camping trip, while falling asleep in a tent full of expedition gear comfortably encased in a sleeping bag, the realization that 99 per cent of my surroundings were plastic hit me like a ton of bricks. Here I was, in the mountains, trying to get away from it all and instead what I got out of it was the notion how reliant I am on the stuff. Maybe my next trip should involve a bamboo cabana on a beach in Thailand - and a Boeing 747 running on aviation biofuel to get there, of course.
