Laundry and Have To

The washing machine is almost done. This morning I want to get some things done. Last weekend I bummed around. This weekend I'm trying to be less of a couch potato, so I threw laundry in the washer, then wrote Morning Pages. It will be ready for the dryer as I finish this.

Most things I avoid turn out to be this easy. The more time I take imagining complications, the more difficult things seem. If I just do things, they turn out as easy as measuring detergent and turning the knob.

Laundry is too easy to dread, but I talk myself out of doing these things. I'd much rather write Morning Pages. But the machine does the work while I write. It's not an either/or.

Even when a task seems like drudgery — scrubbing the kitchen sink, for example — doing it is fine. I squirt cleanser and scrub while listening to music. Five or ten pleasant minutes later, the sink is clean and I feel good.

I forget that when putting things off.

I resist feeling I have to, but really I almost never have to. Nearly everything is a choice. I chose to do laundry, chose to write Morning Pages, chose to type this. Later, I'll probably choose to scrub the sink.

If I choose otherwise, I'll have fewer pieces of clean clothing and a dirty sink. Who cares? Have to is a lie I tell out of fear. I don't have to believe the lie or the fear.

The washer is done. I'm choosing to move clothes to the dryer. Why not? It's not like I have to and it's just so easy. I should try to remember that.

Seeking Simplicity

"When hungry, eat; when thirsty, take a drink; when sleepy, go to sleep" — Zen saying

It's the simple things with which I struggle. This is why I'm fat. It's why our house is a mess.

Bigger things often feel easier. Over eight years, I saved for and then bought a Tesla. I manage an organization approaching $2M in value and a staff of a dozen. At home, I pay bills, keep us out of credit card and student loan debt. Big stuff.

But I eat when not hungry, drink with no connection to thirst, and stay awake long past feeling sleepy. I've put laundry in the machine but the den is covered in pet hair and there are cobwebs in the kitchen. I have four letters from a friend I haven't answered. Yet still I find time for Twitter.

All of this is difficult to accept though I bet acceptance is the first step. It's difficult accepting I haven't run in weeks, still haven't hung the paintings at my office. I make coffee each morning, write three pages by hand, but won't pull on running shorts or hammer a couple nails.

Am I whining? I hope not. Mostly I'm trying to understand.

I've written blog posts this week, one each morning without worrying if I'll do it again the next day, just enjoying. A Zen master might say, when the thought begins, write.

Perhaps that's a start. I'll think it over while moving laundry from washer to dryer. Maybe I'll consider it while vacuuming to the den. Maybe today I'll ask, am I hungry, do I thirst, or am I ready to sleep? Which is to say, maybe I'll consider the things which are and aren't simple and that have simple answers in this complex life.

Oops

Last night, I learned I've been doing something wrong that affects our organization. I learned this in a workshop with two board members. At the next break, I said, oops, shook my head in disbelief, and owned it.

They were understanding and we agreed immediately on the fix that improves the whole organization.

Last week, a staff member made a mistake and, rather than come to me, tried to hid it. They are new to the organization and timid. I told them, I have no problem with mistakes and don't have use for blame so long as we're open and apply fixes. I worked with them to fix things, it was no big deal, and we're better for it.

I told them how, as a kid, I broke a window with a ball and panicked, feeling I'd be in big trouble. But I told Dad and he helped me fix it without recrimination. His message: when things happen, we fix them.

Decades later, my daughters broke a garage windows with a ball, came to me, and we had fun fixing it together. That new window was better than the one we'd replaced.

Last night's oops pointed out a broken thing. Fixing it makes for a better organization. Fixing it together made us stronger.

Oops is accepting that things happen. It facilitates a fix and brings in help. Oops, more often than not, makes things better than they were before.

Heroes

Came home late from work yesterday. The cats and dog greeted me, hungry for attention and kibble. My wife was out. I put baked a frozen pizza, changed into pajamas, sat on the couch to watch something easy, light, fun, and good.

I settled on the first Captain America movie, one I've seen a dozen times. The pizza was good. The pajamas, couch, and blanket were comforting. The movie felt just right.

When my wife came home, she asked what I was watching and laughed a little when I told her. She laughed a little at how many times I've watched it and because she understands that sometimes I just need a hero or two.

She said, at the end, the heroes win.

I said, and everyone knows the villains are bad.

Yesterday's news was of the Florida hurricane, their terrible governor, the orange maggot who attempted a coup. A disaster and two villains who might as well be whispering, hail Hydra. No hero with an indestructible shield, super strength, and the purest of hearts is on his way. Am I supposed to pull on tights and go into battle? Honestly, I couldn't pull them over my fat belly.

We watched that rest of that movie and, when it was over, put on the first Avengers movie. No surprise, the heroes won again.

And then, after a hard day filled with hard news, I slept like a child.