03.07.10

This Is My Everest

Posted in Simplicity at 6:37 pm by jeci

It has been years, you guys. Years and years and years of failing at laundry. Years of looming piles of stale clothes. Years of a bumper crop of dirty clothes languishing in the laundry baskets that are meant for clean laundry. One big stinky Festival of Fail after another. So you might be nearly as surprised as I am to learn that I have won. I have kicked laundry’s ass. I AM WINNING AT LIFE. Well, at least at laundry, but it feels surprisingly the same as WINNING AT LIFE.

And the thing is? It’s not like I didn’t do laundry; I did the damn laundry. Often, even. I just couldn’t somehow do all of it. I had, in fact, given up on the enterprise of fixing the laundry problem because it had become clear that the laundry problem was me. Me. I suck at laundry, for really really reals, amen. And the only person who sucks at it more than me is my husband (sorry, Dear). So given how difficult and rare it is to execute a personality reversal, the Blue Yon Belly household appeared doomed to a lifetime of slumping piles of clothes threatening to burst the closet doors.

And then I, we, fixed the whole problem by accident.

See, the thing is, we’ve been doing this…project. Over the last year or so, we’ve kind of, sort of, totally started changing the way we live. It’s not all cult-y or anything creepy, so you don’t need to start mumbling excuses at your sneakers while you slink towards the door. In fact, it’s not terribly exciting or even all that different from how we lived before (that’s the kind of, sort of part), it’s just that it’s planned and charted and discussed (that’s the totally bit). And it’s working.

It’s no big thing, really. In fact, it’s simple. And there, I’ve gone and done it, because I’ve stolen my own punchline: it’s simple. We’ve made the decision to live simply. That’s all.

It could have been argued that we were already living fairly simply, since we spent the greater part of the last decade living in a 500-square foot apartment with no car, no cable, no cell phones, no gaming systems, and, well, y’all have seen the TV. (Nothing has changed except that we’ve splashed out on a second bedroom and an extra 345 square-feet. Or, as I think of it: 345 Square-feet of Worth It.) So, yeah, it’s not like we were huge consumers to begin with. You know, compared to the average North American. I mean, there are people out there with Hummers and snowmobiles and, and…jet skis. And those people aren’t even necessarily anything but middle class. Certainly more middle class than I am, but still.

And yet.

And yet we had, among some other detritus (what was that in the corner? A VCR?), the impenetrable Mountain O’ Laundry and it occurred to us that despite some laudable efforts, we weren’t living quite as simply as we liked to believe. There’s a lot to be said here, but suffice it to say, we’ve since learned that North American standards of consumption are not a good yard stick with which to measure one’s girth as a consumer. It’s like setting your moral compass to Hannibal Lecter: Sure, snorting an eight ball* and unwittingly racing your Ferrari over a little old lady is reprehensible, but have you eaten anyone’s face today? No? Well then, I’m OK, you’re OK!

[Sigh. This is the part that's tricky: telling a multi-faceted story that not only has no defined beginning or end, but in which you're also very much still treading through the middle. It's...it's a process, this project.] So let’s bring it back to the laundry. I think the laundry can be a good parable for simplifying any part of your life. I said that we fixed the problem by accident because when we set about simplifying I wasn’t expecting that I would be giving myself the tools to address certain long-standing problems; I just thought we’d be de-cluttering and saving money and that would kind of be it. But instead, as the boxes of clutter and old clothes were carted off to charity, tiny little revelations bloomed in their wake. And one big revelation: if you simplify your life, your life gets simpler. WHO COULD HAVE SEEN THAT ONE COMING. (Um, I didn’t.) (Like, I thought we’d have less crap, but I didn’t realize that would equate to a hell of a lot more time on my hands and a whole bunch of other stuff I will get into some other time maybe.) Anyway, here’s the little process I’ve learned. Let’s call it the Make Your Life Easier So That You Can Stop Sucking Method.

Step 1: Admit you suck. And that you’re not going to change.

We have a tendency to psychologize the reasons why we suck at something, casting these long narratives about being overwhelmed or perfectionists or not feeling good enough. This can be helpful. It’s good to identify these issues, because they can be true. But they’re probably not going to go away in time to get the laundry done. And even with years of therapy, these things might not go away. Besides, who cares if we suck at something? Everyone sucks at something. Admitting you suck at [something] is not the same as sucking as a human being.

So let’s be real. Me? My issue is a relatively serious, lifelong condition: Chronic Generalized Laziness (CGL). I have found that there is, quite simply, no cure for CGL. There is no effective motivation or deterrent or medication (at least I’m guessing on that one — I’ve never tried methamphetamines). Given the choice between doing the laundry or sitting in a lump on the couch, feeling miserable and deplorable for not doing the laundry, I will always, always, mysteriously, choose feeling miserable and deplorable. Because that’s the option that involves more sitting.

Step 2: Observe how you behave and then accommodate your handicap (Or: Find the limit)

When I said there is no cure for CGL, I was kind of wrong. For me, there is a cure: shame. I will not go to work in dirty clothes. So, I noticed, I will always do precisely enough laundry so that I can go about the world as a clean, presentable, non-smelly person (well, hopefully). The rest of the laundry was just never pressing enough because I didn’t need those other clothes or the spare towels in order to prevent shaming myself. And given the option between doing unnecessary laundry or pretty much anything else, I will do anything else, thank you very much.

Put another way, I am able to overcome my CGL for what amounts to three or four loads of laundry. After that, it’s too much, forget it, please get out of my life, OMG I hate this, etc., etc. I can tell myself I SHOULD do more than three loads and technically there’s no reason why I can’t or won’t, but I don’t and never do. So there’s the limit: three loads. It’s what I’m actually willing to do and it’s what I need to do to accommodate my shame.

Step 3: Wait a minute, did you just say you don’t need those other clothes or the spare towels? (Or: Simplify to accommodate the limit)

Hey, Genius: What if you just got rid of all those clothes you don’t need? Took those extra linens to the women’s shelter? What if you got rid of everything except your favourites that you end up wearing all the time anyway? If you can only do three loads, what if you only had three loads’ worth?

This is, of course, exactly what we did. And guess what? We’re down to three loads a week — lights, darks, linens — and it gets done every week. Our closet is surprisingly full, considering. I thought we would have to be pretty bare bones like monks or something to have only three loads’ worth**, but there’s a bit of a rotation and it works out great. The best part? I no longer hate myself every time I pass the hamper.

Conclusion: There’s a winning formula in this

IF you want to spend less time doing bullshit crap jobs, THEN own less bullshit crap. Bullshit crap requires maintenance, cleaning, dusting, putting away, installation of batteries, recycling, troubleshooting…Or put another way: Less stuff means more time. Enjoy.

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*Does one snort an eight ball? You know, some things I’m glad I don’t know.

**Fellow editor friends: Why is my brain faintly telling me this is possessive? Three loads’ worth? Am tired. My Chicago is in the other room and my CGL is flaring up. It is possessive, isn’t it? I’m putting the apostrophe in.

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