I was visiting my grandmother a few years ago, and we’d just washed the dishes. Then I found a cup that didn’t make it into the dishwasher. And I felt bad. I felt like I hadn’t actually finished the dishes. Maybe I needed to hand wash the cup, so that I could be finished. Why hadn’t I thought to check for cups in the living room?
Dishes have long been a stressor for me. I can’t explain exactly why, but the above thought line is a part of it. I would put off dishes because it seemed as soon as I pressed start, I'd generate more dishes. I hate the way my hands smell and feel after. There’s an eternal quality to the chore that made me frustrated, constantly asking “what’s the point.”
But as I was stressing about the cup, my grandmother shrugged it off and said “There are always more dishes.” Then she went to the couch and put her feet up. She was done for the night.
And that’s when it hit me. This IS a never-ending chore. That eternal quality is real, but it doesn’t make the individual loads less valuable. This is a task you keep up with, not one you check off as conquered. You do the dishes, but once you start the load, you can be done. You’ve done enough for now. You can rest without guilt.
It’s strange how something that has always been true can take new meaning when put in such a context. I have a much easier time starting the dishes now, because I’m not in a race to finish them. It might be a dish left out, or a sock that missed the laundry basket, or any number of little things. But whatever it is, it doesn’t have to stand in your way of checking the done box for the night. You haven’t failed to complete your task. You’ve done enough. Go sit on the couch and rest without guilt. There are always more dishes.
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