I came out of the paper mill blank. I felt so naked and exposed! A true blank canvas. This scared me at first, but then I realized I was full of potential. They don’t tell you that at the paper mill, of course—you’re just an average joe, run-of-the-mill, something for people to scribble on. But I knew I had so much life ahead of me (thanks to recycling). Like endless lives (take that cats!). I was determined to live with purpose, in honor of the tree that gave their life for me.

In my first life, I was an electricity bill. Being a thing people dread is not the first impression I wanted to make. But you gotta start somewhere I suppose. The couple I was addressed to opened me, sighed, and set me on the kitchen counter. I had great conversations with the fruit bowl. Did you know kiwis actually have a New Zealand accent? Apples claim they keep the doctor away. Oranges spread juicy gossip. The bananas told great stories about growing up in the tropics. I asked if they got backaches from being so curved all the time and they asked if I got stiff from being straight all the time—touché. After about a week, the couple picked me up again and tore me apart. I guess they paid their debt and wanted to be rid of me. I don’t blame them. I sat in the recycle bin for a few days and was glad to find an empty can of beans to keep me company (I’m scared of the dark). But then they started telling stories of the can opener and it got pretty gory. I was shaking like a leaf! I was glad when the recycle truck came and we parted ways in the big bin. I dreamed of where I would go next!

In my second life I was a piece of construction paper. I was in a pack of 50, and we really did become a pack. You get to know each other pretty well when you’re butt to face for so long. I was a blue sheet, like that classic royal blue. I dreamt about being made into a seaside scene, but that quickly turned into a nightmare when I imagined the sinister scissors coming for my head (eek!). Our pack was picked up by a nice teacher. I was nervous when she passed us out to her students (those sticky little hands!) and was relieved when I was given to a shy girl. Her desk mate seemed like a terror, but she had creativity in her eyes—the possibilities of a blue piece of paper! Oh, how she could shape me! The students were then instructed to cut us into long strips (that burst my bubble a bit). The scissors weren’t that bad, through they’re like cocky jocks—probably comes with the territory of having silver legs. I realized we were being made into links to string across the classroom, like a colorful chain of connection. I was proud to be a part of something bigger. Plus, I got to link up with yellow—she was so sunny (and cute). As a chain, we spent a lot of time playing games of telephone. We had a lot of wild games and came out with so many inside paper jokes! At the end of the school year, the teacher took us down and threw us in the recycle bin. I was comforting to still be linked together while in the bin. We shared our hopes and dreams for our next lives. It was nice.

I had high hopes for my third life. Third time is the charm, right? I came out as Page 237 in a mystery novel. The book was 239 pages long, so I was right at the end—the best part of any good mystery! I was itching to know how it ended. I tried to work my charm and sweet talk Page 238 into telling me about her, but she wouldn’t say a peep. She definitely had her fibers in a wad. Page 239 wouldn’t spill the beans either (I just shuddered from remembering those scary can opener stories!). I did get to know Page 236 super well. I mean, we were pressed against each other more than is socially acceptable. It was super awkward, but she was nice enough to read me so that I could know what I was all about. But, of course, I can’t tell you! Mwuahahaha! Boy, this mystery stuff got to my head. It was a super long life of holding in secrets. The book got passed around from shelf to shelf so much that the binding started to break. I knew my time was coming, that I would come loose. I prepared early and bid my adieu to Page 236 (we stayed close over the years). I knew Page 238 was coming with me…great. The day we eventually fell out, I remember being taken up by a breeze and whirling around. Wahoooo! The freedom felt amazing! I hope one day I get to be a paper plane. Page 238 was complaining the whole time—even flying didn’t loosen her fiber wad. I didn’t let her bring me down, though. I had wings! We eventually landed on a small patch of grass (I was face up—take that Page 238!), and I soaked in the sun. A Good Samaritan picked us up and lightly tossed us in the nearby recycle bin. It was dark in there, but I was starting to get used to that. I dreamt of blue skies, tickling green grass, and a cool breeze. I made friends with a paper coffee cup. He had a super short life but was glad to be recycled, not trashed! I wondered what my next life would be.

And then I was a sticky note. Just the regular old pale-yellow square one. I sat in a junk drawer—you know that place where all the kitchen misfits go. You’ll be glad to know the scissors were as cocky as ever—must be something in their DNA. The matchbox was wild! I mean, I guess I would expect that from someone who breathes fire but still. I liked her but was glad she was a few compartments over. The pens were a chatty bunch which is not surprising given their life’s purpose is to bring words to life. I knew one of them would walk all over me one day. I hoped it would be Penny because she was super nice and glittery (and pretty)! My daydreams were of her working her magic all over me…but I digress. The paper clips reminded me of Page 238—always so tightly wound! The other pads of paper were cool—we exchanged stories of our past lives. The random coins thought they were royalty, but no one paid attention to their attempts at ruling the drawer. Tape boasted about their adhesive and how mine was obviously weaker. Whatever, I knew my worth. The bag clips were the gossips—those big mouths of theirs, I tell you! One day, when I was chatting with Penny (I was making her laugh!), I was pulled from the rest of my pad. I was so mad—really, human?! You need me now, when I’m talking to the girl of my dreams?! But I stopped being a sour puss when I saw Penny get pulled and her tip came towards me. I imagine this kind of anticipation is what humans feel like before a first kiss with someone. I don’t kiss and tell, though, so you’ll be left with the boring details—bread, pasta, beans, tomatoes, spinach, pickles, chocolate (finally something fun!). I turned into a grocery list. I got a tour of the store as my human took me down the aisles. I was amazed at the cereal aisle—a double row of colorful cardboard! I felt bad for the bran cereal—they had a pretty sad-looking box. The sugary cereals were obviously trying to get everyone’s attention. Be wary of those guys, kids! At the checkout, I was fascinated by the receipt getting printed until I saw it get ripped away—I had to look away! It gave me the heebie-jeebies. When I finally opened my eyes, I realized I had been tossed in the recycle bin. There were plastic bottles in there, but I was too distracted to make small talk. They seemed to understand and kept a lid on it. I spent my time daydreaming of Penny and hoping I wouldn’t be a bran cereal box in my next life.

I opened my eyes in my next life half expecting to see “bran flakes” when I looked down at myself. Instead, I saw lines! I had finally earned my stripes! The blue horizontals and single red vertical are highly sought after among paper. Those three holes in the margin are holes of honor. I was giddy but still had one thing to do before I could celebrate. I quickly assessed the spacing between the lines—yes, college ruled! I was meant for the big leagues (no offense to wide-ruled paper—they put up with a lot, being at the elementary level). I wondered what kind of work would be poured into my lines. An essay, a poem, a whole bunch of doodles? Please not another list! I had high hopes for myself. I lived in a binder awaiting the day I would be freed from the rings and wave my stripes. I tried to guess what would become of me by listening to the lectures I sat in. It sounded complicated, like gibberish, which meant I was in a really hard class. Can you be smart by association? The day I was pulled from the binder I was daydreaming about Penny again (must have been something in that glitter!). I watched as the pencil came closer. It was a Ticonderoga #2—only the world’s best pencil! Gosh, what an honor. Then, the scribbles happened. It tickled! I couldn’t make sense of any of the writing. It was like getting a full-body tattoo only I had no idea what the artist was up to. For all I knew, I would come out with the equivalent of a cringeworthy “I heart mom.” When Ticonderoga stopped, I looked down and saw a whole bunch of symbols and numbers…a calculus problem?! Why yes! The answer was neatly boxed on my last line. I was so proud—I was the product of a super smarty pants! Ah, if Penny could see me now! I lived in a stack of other problem-solved papers for a while. At the end of the school year, I was added to the do-not-keep pile. I was like a one-hit wonder, but I didn’t mind—I would still carry my hard-earned stripes in my soul. I was dumped into the recycle and boy was it a paper party! We exchanged stories of our college days. One paper was just full of doodles, and I felt bad for her, but she wore those hearts and stars and swirlies like badass tattoos. Another was full of lyrics. He was convinced he would be the next hit—maybe some musician would magically pick him up before the recycle warehouse—but everyone knew his hopes were amiss. We all took turns at singing his lyrics out loud (I love karaoke!) and that seemed to make him feel better. My favorite piece of paper in there was a crumply fellow. He was so wise, and his crumples told a story of a human trying to write the next great idea, failing, and letting go. It was a great lesson for all of us. We all ached to be remembered, but he reminded us that our destiny is to be repurposed, and that was a beautiful thing.

In my next life (which is the life I’m telling you these stories from), I’m a cheesy Valentine’s Day card. I’ve learned cheesy is in the eye of the beholder—you’ll see what I mean—but at first, I could hardly sit with the clichés. The rest of the cards in my troop felt similarly. We sat in the slot at the card store thinking no one would ever take us home. I was at the front of the stack, so I got picked up most often. I was held by many and put back by many. I was beginning to think I wouldn’t make much out of this life, or worse yet, be recycled for next year (please no!). Then, I was held by a young woman, maybe 15 or so, who picked me up and smirked when she read my sentiment but didn’t laugh. I held my breath. She actually saw value in me?! Apparently so because the next thing I knew (I think I passed out from holding my breath so long), I was tucked away in a box on her bookshelf. I was comforted to be among the wooden shelves—my fellow tree brethren! I waited to be pulled out again. I had no idea when day Valentine’s Day was, but I expected it to be soon. After a couple of weeks went by, I was convinced she forgot about me. I felt sorry for myself. Every once in a while, she would pop the box lid and pull out the ball of string (my favorite roomie—she’s a little high strung but could be unwound with a bad joke), the notepad (my paper homie!), or the tape (still boasting about the strength of his adhesive…like who cares buddy?!). Years went by, which, being a product of an old tree, didn’t faze me much. I wasn’t so dramatic that I thought I would never live out my destiny, but I did start to wonder if I would ever be given to someone. Then, one day she picked me up. It was like being pulled out of dark, stirring waters, clinging on to an ice block, after being tossed from a sinking ship. Kidding. I was actually just taking a nap, when I felt her tug at my crease. After waiting for this day for so long (my tree instincts tell me it was over 10 years), I expected to feel ecstatic. Instead, I felt pretty normal, as if I had been meant for this moment the entire time. She wrote in me (still tickled!), sealed me in an envelope (I felt super claustrophobic—they don’t tell you how stuffy it is in there at the card factory!), and set me on a table. Someone else’s hands picked me up (I have a feel for such things) and opened me. He didn’t laugh either, but smiled at me, then looked up to smile at her. I had fulfilled my destiny. I still sit here on the windowsill where I get to watch life go by in their living room and on the street. Sometimes I see a paper float by on the sidewalk, and I hope they get placed in a recycle bin so they can be repurposed and find a home. I worry that I might get sunburned one day, or go a little yellow from age, but I don’t care. I feel warm and loved.

That’s my story—for now. Maybe I’ll be a newspaper in my next life, and I could leak my own stories in there. That’d be pretty cool. And maybe a shipping box one day! I’ve always wanted to travel. Needless to say, the possibilities are endless, so long as I always end up in the recycle bin. So, thanks to all you recycle folks out there. You give me LIFE!