Mermaid Seeking Voice

Rachel Moore-Beitler

The tale of the twenty-something: entering the waters head first with a brave dive, coming up gasping for air, treading water, searching for land, swimming, maybe even laughing, treading more water, fighting the current, or sometimes getting out and questioning the flow altogether.

I am presently finding harbor in Boulder, Colorado, where I can access just about everything by bike or bus, (usually) find the organic food I want, hang homemade prayer flags on my front porch, and choose from stores that offer handmade, fair-trade goods—all with the foothills of the Flatirons Mountains in the distance. A bohemian island paradise? Not quite.

Turns out, it’s incredibly tiresome to job hunt in an oversaturated sea of over-qualified post-grads and lots of well-intentioned-do-gooders. How does my resume hold water? How can my voice be heard? Moreover, how does a waitressing gal like me stay afloat in the waters of the financially privileged?

This city ends up being an interesting place for treasure hunting, which for me looks like searching for affordable organic produce and body work on a sliding scale. The repeated diving and resurfacing. Sure, yoga classes and solar panels are amazing components to a mindful, green lifestyle, but they are unaffordable to the many loan-carrying, post-college, and pre-settled young adults like myself.

So why do I care? Perhaps its my international travels or year-long experiences volunteering at a homeless shelter that have instilled a constant curiosity about (lack of) money and access while bobbing in the sea of capitalism. How to be committed to conscious consuming while feeling overwhelmed by the monotonous rush of the “more is more” mainstream.

The lived juxtaposition: happily toting my compost bin to the curbside city-wide pickup one minute; counting tips for grocery trips to buy fresh, hopefully local, and non-high-fructose-corn-syrup-containing food the next (harder than you might think!).

How can we as a society start making healthy, sustainable lifestyles more prevalent and accessible to lower income, marginalized individuals, families, neighborhoods, and communities? How do I eat non-GMO food (i.e. the more expensive brand) while living paycheck to paycheck? 

And suddenly I find myself caught in the currents of Environmental Justice. Allow me to step on my (earth-friendly) soapbox for a second and highlight the work of Van Jones, an activist, environmental justice pioneer, and author of The Green Collar Economy: How One Solution Can Fix Our Two Biggest Problems (HarperOne, 2008). Um, yes please?! Essentially, Jones is a voice finally offering practical ways simultaneously to rescue the flailing economy and devastated environment. He sparks the much-needed conversation about the importance of Environmental Justice, that is, how to interrupt our addiction to oil, and in doing so, pay more attention to disrupted neighborhoods and displaced indigenous communities. A mouthful for many, but I believe that this guy is on to something.

Suddenly, going green is the new fad—haven’t you heard Whole Foods called “whole paycheck”? No wonder Jones shows how this wave of eco-chic creates an illusory, elitist notion about those privileged enough to focus on environmental concerns; while we certainly need people to be thinking about the rainforest, we also need people to be thinking about their communities. 

Jones speaks to how teaching green technology (such as how to install solar panels) can not only boost the economy but provide many with a path out of poverty—oh, and save the world. I am humbled in my efforts to relay his message; please, run, don’t walk, to get your hands on a copy of this book. (www.greenforall.org)
So how do I go green in my (sub)urban community? Big dreams, small strokes. Planting seeds in the lawn of my rental house, driving on biodiesel, cultivating a consciousness on consumption/minimizing waste, and maintaining a dedication to healthy diet. 

And why? Because once we’ve learned the disastrous effects of our trampling, how can we not pause to think about our footprint?
Even so, it’s not easy being a conscious consumer (stopping to read the ingredient list, considering where and how things were packed/shipped, looking for earth-friendly paper products, wondering where/how clothes were made), while also being financially strapped.

Often I feel like a frustrated, small fish in a big pond of economic privilege. Especially when it just seems so obvious that if we all made like salmon and started swimming upstream (challenging corporations that have destructive business practices), we could make waves.

Gosh, do I sound jaded? Pulled down by the undertow? Tired of waitressing? I would like to think that amid all of this puddle-jumping, I am still able to recognize that everyone is simply trying to do the best they know how to achieve happiness. 

Yet if that means season lift-tickets, I find myself confronting a swell of disappointment. Why can’t life be more like the scene at the end of Finding Nemo where he gets all the fish stuck in the fisherman’s net to swim down together to be free? How do you convince others to swim away? (How do you convince them that they are stuck in the net in the first place?) Herein lies the struggle, first in finding my voice and then in finding the where and when to speak.

So what is the idyllic vision beyond Boulder? For now it only exists as a muddled watercolor with splashes of gardens that feed a household of adopted children being raised without the overstimulation of television or caffeinated sodas, with a focus on community and connection through music instead of alcohol; where conversations spill over with shared awareness about difference and there is celebration for eco-friendly alternatives, diversity, volunteerism, and social justice.

Until the bubble bursts and I find myself discouraged to wonder where the funding for such a homestead will come from. (Are the twenties the part of your life where you just question everything?) Still, where is land that offers the accessible, affordable, and fertile ground in which to plant and water these seeds of hope? I know there are others seeking voice, eager for change. Perhaps for now it’s like Nemo’s friend says, “Just keep swimming, just keep swimming.”

—Rachel Moore-Beitler, Boulder, Colorado, is currently enjoying a lovely change of scene working for a local preschool. Eating farmer’s market produce, composing songs while biking, and playing with her dog keep her content.