Overwhelmed. Frustrated. Angry. Impotent. These are words we hear a lot these days. And on the flip side, since November’s US election results I’ve heard many ordinary people say that even if we can’t influence the big picture, we can make a difference in our own sphere. On the one hand that sounds so trite that I hesitate to repeat it, but on the other I know that in the absence of much else, it is advice worth acting on. Smile. Make time for people. Tell service workers when they’ve done a good job… All suggestions gratefully received in the comments section below. 

As a mindset, it’s one way to cope. And we need plenty of those. My keystone is a daily walk. Preferably in the woods amongst trees but I’m happy, too, on suburban streets when a local errand transforms into vital exercise and calming headspace. Whether I’m tuning into birdsong or an audiobook it’s an important component of my day, and sanity. But recently, I’ve been increasingly distracted and saddened by rubbish. It’s everywhere. From amongst the nourishing natural order of leaf mould, fallen twigs and daffodil buds, loom lurid assaults from discarded Red Bull cans, greasy fish and chip papers, foil chocolate wrappers, and plastic Burger King milkshake beakers—still with the straws stuck in them. I try not to notice. But the idea of people casually discarding their rubbish is upsetting. Many years ago, when I lived in London I was walking past a queue of cars when a driver wound down his window and threw his empty fag packet in my direction. Wordlessly, I picked it up and dropped it on his lap. ‘I pay my council tax,’ he growled and chucked it out again. 

I often think about the comedian David Sedaris who has become obsessed with litter picking in the West Sussex village where he lives. He’s so well-know for it that the local council named a bin lorry in his honour. On the side are the words, Thanks David for helping to keep the area clean. “You can tell where my territory ends and the rest of England begins,” he says. “It’s like going from the rose arbor in Sissinghurst to Fukushima after the tsunami.” I admire what he does. But have to wonder—what kind of a mug picks up other people’s rubbish? 

Then last month, I was chatting with my friend Felice. Like David Sedaris she is originally American but has lived here for many years. She always makes me think. We were talking about the state of the world and how I feel impotent. “We have to hold our commitment to our values,” she said. “No-one else can do that for us.” Afterwards, one thought led to another and so it was that last Monday I found myself going out for my usual walk, armed with a bin bag, sturdy gloves, hand sanitiser, and my brand new litter grabber, bought online from the Helping Hands Environmental Company.  I was nervous and sure that people would think I was weird. But that’s irrational. As David Sedaris says, “How is it fair that the person who rips a lottery ticket into 16 pieces and throws it on the ground isn’t crazy, but the guy who picks it up, is?”

It turned out to be surprisingly satisfying. The litter grabber is light and impressively dextrous, capable of grasping everything from a cigarette stub to a large plastic bottle, so there’s no need to come into personal contact with anything. I walked through my local woods and deposited all kinds of things in my sack, many of which looked like they’d been there some time. My walk back along the same route, was delightfully litter-free.

The next few days were very wet, so although I walked, I didn’t do any more litter picking. Then on Friday, I was driving to London for a family birthday and feeling cheerful. Cheerful, that was until I noticed the astonishing amount of rubbish along the side of the dual carriageway. It was immensely depressing and once I’d started seeing it, I couldn’t stop. It was a reminder that I am inclined to obsessiveness, and have to find a way to stop feeling overwhelmed. 

Yesterday, I came up with a better strategy. I know that all I can do is nibble away at it. So I’m limiting my litter-picking forays to one defined street or stretch of woods per session, and once that is done then I stop. It’s tempting to carry on. But there will always be more. I have to be pleased for what I do make better, not upset about what I can’t. Nor do I collect so much that it becomes heavy and uncomfortable to carry. I still want to get the benefits of my walk. And when I’m not actively in litter-picking mode I deliberately focus on the sky or the boughs of the trees rather than the ground. I know that most people feel like me, and don’t drop rubbish but in the same way that there will always be humans with horrible political values, there will always be thoughtless ones. I know that I have to accept these facts, even though I don’t like them, otherwise they will drive me crazy.  

So far I’ve only been out on my own but the Keep Britain Tidy website is full of helpful advice and information about local litter picking groups and anti-litter campaigns. I might join one of these groups. It would be sociable and I could help to tackle some of the worst areas where individually I can’t make much impact. Seeing groups tidying up the environment must also surely have some effect in changing people’s litter dropping tendencies.

Ways to cope… For now, litter-picking is one of mine. It’s a reminder that we can’t take on all problems but something is better than nothing. It’s a small act of resistance. And given the state of world politics with so much being trashed, the analogy seems rather apt.