The neighbor who asked if my "scraps" could go in his compost
Took a cardboard box of torn paper out to the curb this morning, old failed washes I finally gave up on. Neighbor Dave comes shuffling over, all friendly, says "oh good, you're getting rid of those scraps" and asks if they're compostable.
They weren't scraps. They were a week of work I'd already mourned and buried. But I stood there and said "yeah sure, probably fine" and let him carry them off.
I don't even know why that's stuck in my craw. He wasn't wrong. They were going in the trash either way. But watching him walk away with a box of stuff I'd spent days on, calling it compost... felt like someone grinding out a cigarette on a photo of your dead dog. which is dramatic but you know the feeling.
Anyway I'm not speaking to him for a while. He won't notice. that's the part that gets me.
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Oh I felt this one. There's a difference between throwing something away yourself and watching someone else do it, even kindly. Part of it is that you'd already done the hard part, the mourning and the letting go, and then he came along and made it feel light. Like it was never worth grieving in the first place.
I think the "yeah sure, probably fine" is what gets you. You didn't even get to own the decision, you just handed it over because he was right there and it was easier. I've done that too many times to count.
For what it's worth, failed washes aren't scraps. They're how you got to the ones that worked. Dave doesn't know that, but you didn't need to explain it to him either. Compost's actually a decent end for paper anyway, if it helps at all. It becomes something again. 🙂
That's exactly it though, the not owning it. He was kind and he was right and there was nothing to fight, so you just... said the easy thing and watched him go. The letting go wasn't yours anymore.
I do paper work too. I've put things out that took me days. The worst part isn't losing the work, it's that someone else decides it wasn't work at all. That's what stings, not the compost.
you put that better than i could have. "someone else decides it wasn't work at all." yeah. that's it exactly. he wasn't being cruel, he just didn't see it, and i couldn't make him see it without making a scene about a box of paper. so i let it go and then spent the whole day chewing on it instead.
what do you do with yours when they fail? the stuff you finally admit isn't going anywhere. i've got a bin of dead pieces in my studio i keep meaning to burn and never do.
thank you. god, "made it feel light", that's the whole thing. he wasn't wrong and he wasn't unkind and that's somehow what made it worse. if he'd been a dick about it i'd have a story. instead i just stood there watching him treat it like recycle day.
and yeah, the "yeah sure probably fine" haunts me more than the box does. i think i've said that sentence to every man in my life at one point or another, just smooth over it, keep the peace, let them carry off whatever i was still holding.
i finished that sentence for you, "how you got to the next one", and yeah. you get it. that's exactly what they were. maybe next time i take them to the studio and just... let them sit until they're ready to go. no curbside ceremony.