Micro-packaging

In the twentieth century, we scooped powdery soap out of a box to put in the washing machine or dishwasher. The box was cardboard and lived under the sink. You opened it, guessed at a quantity, and spilled some on the floor. The transaction required a tiny amount of judgement and a tiny amount of mess.

Now we have a pre-measured portion of detergent inside a dissolving polymer membrane, packaged in a plastic container. An easy exchange: we gave up decisions and messes and got convenience. There’s nothing wrong with that. Convenience has given us a whole lot more free time than our grandparents had.

I was thinking all this as I dropped a blue-green pod into the dishwasher. Convenient? Definite yes. Cost? I have no idea. Am I littering a distant beach with microplastics? Is someone else paying for my free-time?

A shallow dive into the interwebs suggests that the debate is ongoing. The shell on the pod is not plastic, but a water-soluble PVA/PVOH film. Whether it’s entirely biodegradable remains an open question.

Yesterday I went to CostCo and bought a big cardboard box of powdered detergent. Inside is a plastic bag with a plastic scoop for measuring the amount you pour into the washing machine drum before adding the clothes. I also bought dense, unwrapped dishwasher pods. I don’t know if those are better for the environment or not. I’m not especially interested in proving that my way is right. I’m more interested in noticing the trade-offs embedded in the decisions we make so casually.

Marriage offers plenty of opportunities to notice trade-offs instead of keeping score.

My husband has not yet discovered our new-old-fashioned method of soap dispensing. He won’t be a fan. He will have many reasons for not changing something that is not provably broken.

But he’ll let it go.

Letting go is one of the essential skills of a happy marriage.