It's Not Easy Being Green.

I recently decided to “go green,” which is something modern adults do when they’ve run out of other ways to feel morally superior. 

You know the type: people who say things like, “I haven’t used a plastic bag since 2014,” as if they personally saved the whales by refusing a carrier at Tesco. I wanted that feeling. I wanted to stride into rooms radiating smug eco‑virtue, glowing like a low‑watt LED bulb.

Unfortunately, as I quickly discovered, being green is not easy. In fact, it is almost aggressively difficult, like the environment is testing you to see how committed you really are. Spoiler: I am not very committed.

My journey began with recycling. This seemed simple. You put the recyclable things in the recycling bin. Except no. Recycling requires a PhD in Symbol Interpretation. Every package has a tiny hieroglyphic on the bottom that looks like it was drawn by a drunk spider. Some arrows mean “recyclable.” Some arrows mean “not recyclable.” Some arrows mean “recyclable only in certain regions of Belgium.” And some arrows mean “recyclable if you first remove the label, the glue, the cap, the inner cap, the foil seal, and the emotional attachment you have to convenience.”

I stood in my kitchen holding a yoghurt pot, paralysed. Was it recyclable? Was it secretly non‑recyclable? Was it recyclable only if I rinsed it with unicorn tears? Eventually I put it in the bin, then immediately felt guilty and retrieved it, then felt guilty for retrieving it, then put it back, then retrieved it again. By the end I had spent more time thinking about that yoghurt pot than I spent finding a girlfriend!

Next I tried “sustainable shopping,” which is where you buy things that are ethically sourced, carbon neutral, and preferably hand‑woven by a cooperative of cheerful villagers who sing folk songs while harvesting bamboo. I went to a shop that specialised in this sort of thing. They sold a wooden toothbrush for £9.99. I don’t know what kind of wood it was made from — possibly the last tree on Earth — but I bought it because the packaging said it was “planet‑positive,” which I assume means it gives the Earth a hug.

The toothbrush lasted three days before snapping in half, at which point I learned that “sustainable” is often a synonym for “fragile and wildly overpriced.” I glued it back together, which I’m pretty sure is not eco‑friendly, but at that point I was too emotionally invested to give up.

Then there was composting. Composting is the process of turning food scraps into a nutrient‑rich substance that looks and smells like something you’d find in a troll’s laundry basket. People who compost talk about it like it’s a spiritual experience. “I feel so connected to the Earth,” they say, while stirring a bucket of decomposing lettuce.

I tried composting for one week. My compost bin immediately became a thriving ecosystem of fruit flies, mould, and something that may have been sentient. I opened the lid one morning and I swear the contents hissed at me. I closed it again and pretended I hadn’t seen anything. If the environment wants to fight, it can fight someone else.

Finally, I attempted to reduce my carbon footprint by walking everywhere. This lasted until I remembered that walking is slow and weather exists. After one rainy afternoon spent trudging home like a damp Victorian orphan, I decided the planet would simply have to cope with my carbon emissions.

So yes, it’s not easy being green. It’s confusing, expensive, occasionally smelly, and often humiliating. But I’m still trying. I still recycle (badly). I still buy eco‑friendly products (reluctantly). And I still walk sometimes (rarely).

Because deep down, I want to help the planet.  

I just wish the planet would meet me halfway and stop making everything so complicated.