It's usually no good preaching, in a prescriptive sense, about how to live responsibly. Generally what works better, is to map out how you yourself attempt the feat: how you go about solving for that elusive x. So for myself, and for my part in Sunnyside, I say: "Don't wait for anyone else: the president, the congress, the neighbors, the corporations, the municipalities, the technologists, the advocates for green this or that. Just get to work. Practice what might be called cosmic economy, which is to say, expand, first, your sense of home, till "home" means not only the walls that immediately surround you at night, but also the whole of the planetary sphere that sustains our lives; then act in harmony with the needs of the whole by practicing thrift in the particulars, yes right down to how you wash your clothes."
For me, when our washing machine broke down last year, practicing cosmic economy meant no, I would not replace the machine; instead, I would wash the clothes myself and leave their drying to the sun. Now that that's done, and the change is made--a commitment of about half an hour a day for me--the verdict on its practical effectiveness is in: over the past year, our household's total gas and electrical consumption has been cut by a fifth, and the equivalent of about half a ton of carbon has been saved. All of which, by itself, makes me happy enough to do the work. But that's not where the story ends.
One of the premises of this blog is that, once we have begun the shift to slower, simpler, less consumption-based lives, certain benefits that we had not necessarily expected to accrue to the endeavor begin to make themselves (beautifully, quietly) apparent. One by one, I'm saying, like the stars at night, these blessings make their entrance, winking in out of the low-volt blue. And I would like to speak of one of those benefits here: namely the likely blessing of healthier bodies.
To begin with though, a thought experiment:
Imagine that, in conversation, I tell someone that, some time ago, I purchased an exercise machine with three components, a sort of exercise ensemble. The day I brought it home (I go on to say), I committed myself to spending half an hour every day with this machine, and have pretty much stuck to that commitment, and although the results are not exactly miraculous, it's a pretty sure bet that my muscles--and especially my arms and shoulders--are stronger for its regular use.
No doubt I could expect a compliment or two for my discipline. Or a low whistle expressive of wonder. Or better yet, a request to inspect my remarkable machine, my fitness ensemble.
"You really want to see it?"
"Oh yes."
"Well just a minute then, it's in the basement. I'll bring it up."
"Can you do that? It's not inconvenient?"
"Oh no, really it's quite portable."
So I descend into my basement, and bring up my machine, my fitness ensemble...which of course turns out the be my plunger, washboard, and pail.
Now what might be the reaction? Incredulity perhaps? Puzzlement? Pity?
Consider. We spend billions of dollars annually on exercise machines of all sorts: rowing machines, treadmills, bicycles, weight machines, etc. none of which of course even pretend to do useful work. They generate no electricity. They grind no corn. No, the pile of weights on a weight machine goes up and down, returning manically, mechanically, to the precise ground-location from which they were launched. The wheels on the exercise cycle go round and round, but the bicycle itself moves not an inch. The treadmill is...well a treadmill. You walk on it, or run on it, but it gets you nowhere, a situation which in your sleep would translate into something called a nightmare.
But! My plunger cost me some fifteen dollars (yes, seems overpriced, until you consider the elegant engineering of its molded plastic end-piece, and yes its cerulean hue). The washboard cost ten, and the pail five. Oh and the drying rack--a hefty antique with dowels more than half an inch thick--that was thirty. For this rather modest expense, for years and years I will not only be able to exercise my arms, shoulders, back, abdominal core, but also accomplish useful work. Yes indeedy folks, my "fitness machine ensemble" does the laundry!
Of course there will be objections. A weight machine exercises a more complete and balanced array of muscles. Plungers and pails generally cannot get the cardiovascular system working fast enough to do my body the heartiest good, not the way a treadmill or a run around the town can etc. etc. And though these arguments have some validity, the biggest trouble with them is this: Most people don't stick with those programs or machines. If they ever do start, they cannot find the motivation to continue. As for why this may be the case--why they can never muster the motivation--I would suggest the following:
Premise one: exercise feels like work.
Premise two: normally when we work, we work in order to get something done.
Premise three: If any activity feels like work but seems to accomplish nothing, something in us rebels, and so much for the program, so long, hasta la vista, goodbye, all because we are meaning makers, meaning cravers, and because pure abstract exercise just doesn't provide the existential goods, at least not in the moment in which we're actually putting out the sweat.
Of course, not everyone will agree with me. Some folks will point to themselves and their (no doubt successful) exercise programs as counter-evidence. And I know that plenty of people really do find exercise bracing and pleasurable; that for them, a good six mile run is no different than say a jam session with my band is for me, which always concentrates my mind, and makes me feel vital and alive.
Unfortunately though (again for most of us) unless the physical movement has meaning in the moment--unless the exercise has use, the way a puppet's mouth can be made to smile and entertain--it's very hard to stick with the program. But here's where the nine volt life comes in! The low-carbon, high-imagination, lifestyle adventure!
Unplug your automatic washer. Replace it with a laundry fitness ensemble.
Make bread by hand. Kneading is real exercise, and you won't regret the goodness of the bread.
In the market for a lawn mower? Consider a reel mower, the kind with the rotating blades. Or let the grass grow a bit more and learn to use a scythe.
Chop wood. Saw wood. Build stuff with hand tools.
Learn to play the piano or guitar. It's surprising how many calories strong handwork burns, and nothing nourishes the soul like homespun entertainment.
Walk. Bike. Everywhere you can. It is simple and carbon free. It gives us time to breathe and to think, and preserves a direct connection between our bodies and the elements.
Note the commonality here among all these suggestions: practical, in-the-moment meaning to accompany the physical action; a destination arrived at, a necessary task accomplished, a pleasant way to pass the time. No longer, under this arrangement of understanding, are we trying to reach (by means of bodily movement) some abstract future state of fitness, some perfect body that never really shows up. No, for a nine-volt adventurer, the healthy fit body is simply the inevitable result of a daily routine that calls that body into use; it just happens; it's a gift, a happy indication that the way of life you're leading is changing both you and the world.
HB
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