Soap-A-Dope

Had a shave this morning and got thinking about how long it takes before things end. Does everyone muse philosophically while shaving?

I use a shaving cup, a puck of soap and a brush. I recommend it completely. It's satisfying to warm the brush in the hot water, swirl it in the cup bringing up a froth, and apply the soap and brush softly to my face. Much better than using canned shaving cream, having it all over my fingers, wasting metal and plastic. Cup, puck, and brush are better, cheaper, greener tools.

And the soap lasts forever.

I bought a new puck of soap in November. Usually I pop it in on top of whatever soap is in the cup, but I wanted to use up the old soap this time and clean the cup. I figured it would take a couple weeks to use the last of the soap. That was two and a half months ago. As January closes, I bet that I won't finish that soap until March. It just goes on and on.

I try not be in a rush. The new soap is mint and will feel extra good on my face. The old soap is plain as can be. I want to get to the new stuff, as I often do. Instead, I'm making waiting, trying to be present and enjoy how long this soap is lasting.

It's easy for me to want what's next. That's how I miss what is and forget that contentment comes in the moment, not down the line. Waiting for something better misses the joy of the moment.

This morning I ran water until it was hot, plugged the drain, rested my safety razor and brush in the sink and let hot water rise over them. I wet and warmed my face, turned off the tap, and looked in the mirror. Picking up the brush, I shook it dry once, twice, then picked up the soap cup and swirled the brush in it. White foam rose around the brush, thick and full. I brushed that softly onto my face and it felt warm and good. I set the brush back in the cup and picked up the razor.

Then I paused and considered things. The old soap goes on and on. The new soap waits. My face was prepared and ready for shaving. My hand was steady. My mind too. I took a deep breath, held it, and let it go as I took the first stroke through foamed soap. I felt then that I might go on and on almost without end.

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A nice puck of soap costs about seven dollars and lasts at least three months shaving daily and comes packed only in a small sheet of plastic wrap. I'm looking for a local (Syracuse) soap maker from whom to order so as to avoid the plastic.

Old News

I've thought of a news service to which I would subscribe. Surely someone has already had the idea and someone can point me toward it. If not, if this is totally novel, I offer the idea for anyone to run with and make millions. It's all yours.

I want Old News, a publication reporting only on things at least three weeks old. No breaking news. No live coverage. Nothing new in this news. I want only the stories that still matter three weeks later.

This would get rid of anything coming from Twitter. That alone sells the service to me. I'd also hear almost no he said, she said. Gossip has a short shelf life. Sports headlines wouldn't make the cut either, though there could still be great stories from sports.

There would be plenty of room for book reviews, preferably written three weeks after the reviewer finished the book.

There would be analysis of what we had learned about the effects of decisions, events, and encounters after three weeks.

This would be a reflective, deliberative news site. My guess is that it could be centrist with room for analysis that bent left and right.

This could be a print magazine or a website so long as the webmaster didn't get an itchy finger.

Until Old News comes along (or I find where it's being done already), none of the news institutions are getting my dime. I can wait at least until something they are telling me matters in the long term.

Do One Thing

For two months I've had a terrible time getting through books. Part of the problem is that I'm trying to read five books and have another two waiting. I drift from one to another and that's no way for me to enjoy reading.

What's the big deal? I know people who don't read any books and they're fine.

I can't imagine how not reading works for people. Mostly I think they substitute a phone for reading and a phone is no substitute for a book. A screen and page are very different things. One sucks life from me. You can guess which one.

I don't want to give up on reading. I keep finding new books I want to read and from which I want to learn, but I can't get to them because I have these books hanging around my neck.

Just quit those books then. They must not be any good.

I would except each of them is pretty good. None of them are great, but they all still feel worth reading.

I don't know if it's a solution to all that has been ailing my reading, but today I chose the book in which I was farthest along and sat to read it. I'm still feeling the sickness I've had for a week, so it's not like I would go for a run or head out with friends drinking. I figured I might as well open a book and see what comes of it.

What came of it? One book finished. The first of 2020. That and this writing, a bit of self-help, a reminder that my best plan for a good life boils down to three words: do one thing.

I can't read five books at once. I can't even read a whole book at once. I can only open where I left off and start on the first word of the chapter. One word leads to another. Do one thing means really doing that one thing and not thinking about all the other things. Do one thing until it's done, then see what's next.

I finished my book. I wrote this piece. I revised it. Time to post it and update my reading list. After that, maybe another book, maybe something else. Whatever it turns out to be, I'll try to make sure it's just one thing.

Balancing

The shelf next to my desk is a mess. Piles, piles, and piles. Things I should do or should have done. Things I haven't let go. Things I haven't put away. The mess distracts me.

In my email is a Paul Jarvis piece about enough that has me thinking about the difference between what I want and what I need. I want the shelf clear, but what I need isn't as obvious.

I make pushes toward minimalism. They are half-hearted. I like the minimalist idea, but I love the facts of family life and the clutter of living. I'm in the living room where my daughters' paintings hang on the walls, knick-knacks from friends and family decorate the mantel, and blankets are strewn on the comfy couch. I wouldn't change much of it.

As for the messy shelf, some of it I'll put away after this, but much of it is in limbo. I have a couple projects there that I'm not ready to abandon but on which I'm not ready to work. The shelf is a parking lot. It looks messy but it doesn't mess much with my life. Not unless I think about it too much.

Jarvis's concept of enough I call balance. I imagine that tightrope walkers don't remain long in balance as they cross the wire. Balance is something we return to. We fall out of balance, wave our arms madly, and hope to come back into balance before we fall, but we are always moving out of balance. We can also keep working to return to balance.

Minimalism, enough, messes, balance, these are all transient states. Accepting that, I look over at the shelf and see less mess, more possibility.

I've written often about wanting a clean desk, but I'm often working on something new that comes to me in scraps and loose pages, notebooks and computers, file folders and empty coffee cups. The mess accumulates. Wanting a constantly clean desk is a fool's game. Returning to a clean desk, that's an art.

I'm ready to clear off some of my desk and shelf now. It might give me some ideas.