“There is no perfection, only life.” —Milan Kundera
Have you ever been around someone who seems to complete every task with tender care and purpose?
It seems even getting the coffee pot ready for use is something important, as they languidly wash the carafe and fill it with water, and gracefully place a spoonful of coffee grinds inside the filter.
They are slow, careful, deliberate and there almost seems to be a quiet joy surrounding the ritual. There’s an energy of reverence enveloping the moment.
Their entire being seems intently focused on the task at hand.
They are fully present.
No rush to complete it. Their mind does not seem ten steps ahead—mentally planning and executing the next twenty tasks ahead of them.
As you witness this, you, yourself feel calm and nurtured by the moment, inspired by their ability to conduct this menial task in a way that feels reverential and ceremonial.
Taking note in your mind—wondering what their secret is, and wishing to be more this way as you part ways with them.
Forced to examine your own, hurried and pressed conduct.
We crave time with these people because there is something holy and fortifying in the time spent with them.
Like a day spent with cherished, beloved grandparents—where life is slow and revered. Nothing is rushed. Each moment is weighted, grounded and peaceful.
This way of living seems to mostly be observed amidst the elderly (and/or retired) or young children.
“The simple things are also the most extraordinary things, and only the wise can see them.” —Paulo Coelho
Every once in a while, we will see an outlier…a beautiful, happy young or middle-aged soul, smiling and whistling as they affectionately clean a public restroom. Or fold napkins at a restaurant.
You can feel their happiness and contentment. You can see they are assigning the work meaning, importance and even joy.
They glow with pride in what they are doing.
“If you change the way you look at things, the things you look at change.” —Wayne Dyer
The youngest among us are experiencing everything as brand new, and novel there are not yet responsibilities and obligations weighing them down. They are mostly unaware of time.
The oldest among us are at the end. They know each moment is a gift. They have the wisdom of a lifetime on their side. They know the importantance of each precious moment.
They have paid their dues and it is their time to honor what time they have left.
What about the rest of us? The ones rushing around in a manic scramble and wishing away all the tasks at hand?
Twenty steps ahead of ourselves—even days, weeks and months ahead of ourselves. Living in the future moments, absent from the one at hand.
The ones rushing through the moments they once dreamed of, hoped for, wished for. Missing it all.
Life rushing past you like you are on train that’s flying through the French countryside. Wait! I wanted to see that! Slow down!
Stop!
A few years ago, at the height of a personal spiritual journey I was able to get to that sacred, present place from time to time, not always, but often.
It was the first time, since being a child, I had mindfully experienced being fully present.
I could not get enough.
I would do the dishes with careful alertness. Intention. My mind, for that moment, was suspended.
Somewhere in the background of my internal mind space, I knew and trusted I would get to the next ten things.
Of course I would—so why do I need to think of them now? Why not just be in the moment, because in reality, what else could I accomplish other than the dishes right then?
It is such a beautiful, even magical and rewarding place to arrive at.
It’s prayerful, meditative.
Life slows down, everything has meaning, nothing is trivial, it all seems gorgeous, important and beautiful.
“Love the life you live. Live the life you love.” —Bob Marley
Over the past several months life has been galloping at a frenetic pace. At many points I have felt I am on that hamster wheel we all refer to—going nowhere but really fast.
Spinning the wheels.
Getting things done, but never feeling content, satisfied fulfilled—just frenzied, and frantic, and hopeless that things will ever calm down.
Staring down an endless tunnel of obligations, commitments, errands, tasks, projects.
Which is how life is. For all of us.
A cherished Substack friend recently said; “as they say, sometimes life gets lifey.” (Love this, thanks, Lou!).
But, what if we could calm and slow things down when life gets lifey?
We might not be able to change our commitments and obligations and tasks and chores and errands—the minutia of it all—but we can change our thoughts, our approach.
How we assign meaning to each thing.
“Be where you are; otherwise you will miss your life.” — Buddha
It’s a way of controlling the pace, even slowing time. Forcing our minds to stay focused and not wander, to be present, to hold each moment with reverence and presence.
Much like a meditation practice.
Examining the way in which we assign meaning to the stuff in our lives.
I think it’s safe to say, we usually assign the most meaning to the things we enjoy—the fun things, the relaxing things, time with family and friends, travel.
This makes a lot of sense—of course those moments are the most important—they absolutely should be.
But what about all of the slices of life in between the fun and joyful times? Isn’t that the bulk or at least half of our lives?
When you look at it through this lens, you realize, that in a way, you are assigning potentially half of your life as meaningless.
Menial, boring, groveling, humdrum.
How can we let that happen?
“Take the time to enjoy the little things, for one day you may look back and realize they were the big things.” —Robert Brault
If you assign meaning to folding laundry and perform the task with the kind of pride, joy and focus a three year old would when first learning to fold their clothes on their own—their tongue poking out between their lips, the confident, proud smile they give to you as you praise their efforts— a menial chore becomes something graceful and beautiful.
Something purposeful.
You can turn almost anything into a precious and rare moment by being in it, with it, fully present.
The way the water sloshes while doing the dishes. The tinkling, echoey sound the dishes make.
The hushed, grounding moments spent dusting the house. Birds chirping, outside of the window. Examining each object you lift, remembering the quiet stories behind them.
Gratitude spilling into each moment. The gift it is that we can perform these simple tasks.
Letting your mind be blown by each micro-moment.
A micro-meditation.
Preparing dinner—peeling and slicing. Tethered by the work.
Relishing each task, assigning importance to it. Feeling the creative act of it.
Turning everything into an artistry.
Pleasure.
This can be so healing. So calming. So Rewarding.
Turning each precious moment into something sacred.
Challenging ourselves to find the rareness of an otherwise dull moment or task is what, I think, truly living is about.
It’s what makes life beautiful, worthwhile, fulfilling.
It is where we find the peace we all seek, crave, deserve and require.
Picture a world where we are all content in the moment. Present in the moment. Grounded in each moment. At peace inside the moment of now.
Imagine every person you cross paths with, taking pride in their job, whistling and present while they cook, clean, dust.
It’s the answer. Maybe to everything.
“Live in the sunshine, swim the sea, drink the wild air.” —Ralph Waldo Emerson
Thank you for this beautiful reminder. With my mother in hospital, and visiting to be done, I can feel a panic in my body. I'm trying to just be mindful and say, oh yes, there it is - rather than panicking about the panic! But being present with those daily things (like the stack of unwashed dishes I have cluttering my kitchen right now) is a good tip. Thank you.
Loved this Carly...such an inspirational and uplifting read.
Yes, we should absolutely focus on living in and cherishing the moment, no matter the task. I'm excited to strive for such a positive frame of mind!