Laundry Day

Hi Everyone,

You no doubt will be glad to hear that doing my laundry is at least a semi-regular event in my life. As you know, there are many stages in this process: sorting the clothes; figuring out which washing cycle you want to use (I’m still unsure why having your clothes “permanently pressed” is an appealing option to anyone); transferring the wet clothes to the dryer, etc. My favorite part of the process is cleaning the lint filter on the dryer. I love how the lint clings to itself. I love how in one simple gesture, the screen is clear, ready for the next time (I was also one of those children who considered it a privilege to be chosen to clean the white board at school). I love how the color of the lint depends on the exact makeup of the batch of clothes being dried.

And yet, my feelings couldn’t be described as purely rapturous. In my opinion, there is a panic-inducing aspect to this task which darkens my otherwise joyful experience. The fact is, every time you dry your clothes, they become slightly thinner. The more lint there is in the filter, the closer your clothes are to the end of their useable lives; in effect, laundry day is a harbinger of finality.

Many moments in life -- and perhaps all of the most meaningful ones -- produce in us this bittersweet reaction of simultaneous enjoyment and regret. It’s why in general, we have a harder time with birthdays the older we get. It’s how we can miss good friends even before we part with them. I remember listening to the “Toys R Us” jingle on TV when I was little and becoming as despondent as a five-year-old could be to hear, “I don’t want to grow up, I’m a Toys R Us kid.” I felt an overwhelming conviction that I had to enjoy my childhood while I had it. Peter Pan had the same duel effect on me, and many occasions still do: finishing an especially good book or course in school. All major life events -- graduations, weddings, even births -- are all joyous times, but precisely because they are considered “milestones,” they mark an irreversible progression through life. We pause at such moments not only to celebrate them but also to recognize their passing.

This is the conflict between “living in the present” and recognizing that eventually the future will not contain the specific goodness we are presently experiencing. On the one hand, there’s the mentality that that is expressed in a Les Miserables song: “At the end of the day you’re another day older . . . one day nearer to dying.” On the other hand is the mentality expressed in a song from the musical Rent, “There is no future, there is no past . . . There’s only us, there’s only this . . . No other road no other way, no day but today.” To live following only one of either of these philosophies is to limit oneself. Of course, as with most things, moderation seems to be the key. When I have a limited amount of time to live in a place, I will often count down the number of days I have left there. Some of my friends have said this would distract me from enjoying the time I do have, but I have found that if I think ahead to how much time I have left, I am better able to return to the present eager to experience it thoroughly.

So the other day, when I did my laundry, I paused to recognize the fibers which had fallen in the line of duty, so to speak, but I didn’t let my somber thoughts take away from the fun of cleaning the filter. Plus, I was pretty excited to have clean socks again.

Have a good week,
Sarah/Mouse