You know the moment when a website loads and that box appears asking you to “accept all” cookies. If there is an option to say no, it is probably hidden behind a few more clicks. So you accept. Most of us do this countless times a week without reading a word.
The accept button is everywhere, and it’s not only on websites. Most people use the default browser, email, and other apps that come pre-installed on the hardware. The rental counter offers insurance you probably don’t need, and taking it is the path of least resistance. The default container for almost everything you buy is single-use plastic. Someone already decided, and the easy choice is to go along with what they chose.
But we don’t have to hit accept. We can say no. That little refusal connects to the heart of Plastic Free July, a global movement to cut single-use plastic for the month of July. I’ve taken part every year since 2022. Choosing to participate feels aligned with the other choices I make in my life.
Small Refusals Add Up
I build my website with free software. My laptop runs Debian, and I sync files between machines with Syncthing. I dropped Gmail years ago, and I avoid the big social networks in favor of Mastodon. I block most of those accept buttons before they load with uBlock Origin, and I block ads in our whole house with a Pi-hole. I track my bike rides and walks with free software. If you want more details, I keep a running list of free software alternatives that I use and recommend.
The refusals aren’t all about software. Instead of driving a car, I ride my bike to my yoga classes, the library, the post office, the local food co-op, and anywhere else that I can. I turn off lights when I leave a room, which has annoyed a few people over the years. Rather than fill every hour, I take time every day to sit on my meditation cushion and practice yoga on my mat.
None of this will change the world. I hold no illusion that skipping a plastic fork moves the needle on a planetary crisis. I do these things because they align with my values, not to impress anyone. They make a difference to me, and most days that’s reason enough.
When Nothing You Do Seems to Matter
Last year, I read a book by bioethicist Travis Rieder, Catastrophe Ethics, about making wise choices when each thing we do seems to matter, and at the same time none of it seems to matter at all. Climate change is a problem so large and so tangled that no single choice I make registers against it, and yet I still feel like I must make choices that harmonize with the planet, not hurt it. Activities like recycling a jar, skipping a straw, or biking instead of driving, when set against the size of the problem, seem inconsequential.
Rieder refuses the easy exits. He doesn’t tell us our actions don’t count, and he doesn’t demand perfection. What he offers feels more realistic to me: “Many of our daily actions matter morally, but they aren’t required or forbidden.” There are good reasons to turn down the plastic. Nobody forces my hand, and I don’t get to feel pure when I manage to “get it right.” I just keep reminding myself that I get to choose.
Choosing is the whole ball of wax. Rieder calls our situation a “creative” one in which we get to play an active role in shaping our lives. He has no use for purity as a goal. The lazy answer to an overwhelming problem is to throw up your hands and accept whatever comes. Choosing instead of accepting is its own kind of practice.
A Model I Already Trust
Rieder offers up his own list of guidelines to help avoid re-hashing every choice from scratch. But I already have a set I trust. For me, and for a lot of yoga practitioners, one of the most useful lists is the yamas and niyamas, the ethical principles Patanjali set down centuries ago. Five of them line up especially well with Plastic Free July:
- Ahimsa, non-harming. Less plastic on the Earth means less harm to the beings living on it.
- Asteya, non-stealing. Taking only what I need leaves more for everyone who comes after me.
- Brahmacharya, moderation. One bottle I refill instead of a case of bottles I toss.
- Santosha, contentment. Wanting what I already have, rather than the next thing wrapped in plastic.
- Tapas, self-discipline. The small daily friction of choosing the harder option, on purpose.
These are not commandments. Rather, these practices encourage attention, offering a way to make choices deliberately instead of sleepwalking through life.
Writing this is part of how I psyche myself up for another July. I do my best to reduce plastic all year long, but July is the time when I look for opportunities to cultivate new habits. Plastic Free July isn’t a test you pass or fail. Like yoga, it isn’t a perfect. It’s a practice. You will forget your reusable bag or come home with a plastic clamshell of berries because the store offered nothing else. That’s fine. The goal is not to build a spotless record but to catch the moments when the default appears and remember that you have a choice.
So this July, pick one default and turn it down. Bring your own cup. Learn about tare weights and bring your container to the bulk bin. Wave off the straw before the server puts it in your glass. You don’t have to click “accept all.” You can take the challenge and see what unfolds.
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