It’s not my trash, but it’s my town

Walking around town, I notice yards filled with so much stuff, much of which is unidentifiable. I’m being judgmental, but I just don’t get it. Why don’t people pick up, straighten up, or throw away? Many of these homes are in beautiful, well-kept neighborhoods where I see the pride of mowed grass and growing flowers. I wonder if those who collect stuff that flows onto their back, front, and side yards realize how their disarray affects their neighbors’ enjoyment and property values.

I have nothing against collecting treasures, but if one’s pleasure of buying and keeping stuff interferes with another’s health, wealth, and peacefulness, that’s wrong—just my opinion.

I write about mental wellness, and I understand we cannot control someone else’s thoughts and behaviors. Still, it is difficult for me to maintain neutrality when a pet peeve is alerted. My Mother and Dad’s voices pop into my head: “If you can’t take care of things, you don’t deserve to have them.”

It makes me think of how hard it is to let go. The older I get, the more I lose—friends, family, physical ability, memory, shiny hair—you get the picture. Letting go is a big part of mental health. To live in the moment and make the best of it, we must let go of clutter in our cabinets, garages, yards, and minds. Attachment to things and choosing not to sell, throw away, or give away what we no longer use, want, or need is problematic for healthy living.

We all carry around junk in our minds, and as a reminder to myself and you, my readers, we can control what rotates between our ears. I’m usually successful in that endeavor, but sometimes, especially when it comes to people who don’t take care of what they rent, borrow, or own, I have strong opinions. Do they not care about their neighbors? Maybe they don’t respect themselves. Perhaps they are disabled, addicts, destroyed by grief, or mentally ill. They have a story, and it is wise for me to not throw daggers. My anger does not help the situation, or me.

What does help is that sometimes, when I walk, I have Lucy on one arm and a trash bag on the other. I pull weeds, pick up trash, and try to be a good neighbor. It helps me think I’m contributing to a solution even though I have no control over those who throw trash from car windows, leave dirty diapers in the parking lot, don’t clean up after their dogs, and, yes, even those who collect what I call junk in their yards.

I do it because even though it’s not my trash, it’s my town.

Until the next time: Live while you live.

Jennifer Goble, Ph.D., LPC, is the author of “My Clients…My Teachers,” and the blogger and writer of Rural Women Stories: www.ruralwomenstories.com.