Maintenance and Celebrating the Mundane
“Deeds will not be less valiant because they are unpraised.”
What seems like a different century ago, wait, it was a different century, I was in a university creative writing course. The professor was fantastic, my classmates were talented, and it was one of the most embarrassing experiences of my life. I learned that I cannot write fiction to save my life and spending an entire semester seeing the incredulous eyes of a classroom of peers upon me while I shared my short stories will be seared on my psyche for all time. To read something aloud to the class that I thought was ‘passable’ only to look up from the miry bog to see confused looks and furrowed brows is not something that leaves a person. Not to worry. It may be unforgettable but I can now see their traumatized faces and laugh. Hey, you can’t do it all and sometimes one needs a reminder to sit back and let the pros handle it. In this case, it’s fiction writing. I can’t do it and I have massive respect for those who can.
Fortunately, not every moment of the class was comprised of sharing our own writing. The professor would also provide various professionally written works for us to discuss. One such piece was a poem entitled Maintenance. It was written by a woman who was feeling the oppression of caring for her family. She would complete a task such as the laundry only to see it accumulate behind her back. She was raging against the futility of it all and how her life felt like a waste, a disappointment. I was nineteen years old and in a class with other nineteen year olds, all of whom soundly agreed with the poet. Laundry. Dishes. Cleaning the bathroom. Over and over again. Only suckers find themselves in a life where that is their focus. If a woman had half a brain, we espoused, she wouldn’t squander her talents on such menial tasks and the measure of success must be how much of this nonsense one could avoid.
Of course, as nineteen turned into mid twenties and I was well into living on my own, I learned that some amount of the mundane was required to live; cleaning, grocery shopping, etc. But I didn’t have to like it. I could still view these as the necessary evils. These were the tasks that I would grit my teeth and do while real brain power and gratitude were reserved for more lofty pursuits.
But enter motherhood. To the beautiful addition of each child was also added more and more “maintenance”. Those lofty pursuits of career and creative endeavors were getting squeezed out by more laundry, more cleaning, more cooking. The monotony seemed endless and the Maintenance poem from university? Without me realizing it, it had become a loud mocking voice in my head. You’re a sucker, it would hiss. You’re wasting your talent, it would chide. While, at the time, the poem had been a reprieve from the punishing embarrassment of fictional story writing (my stories were so, so bad!), I can now honestly say that I would take embarrassing memories over baby lies that grow into bully lies.
However, the thing about little niggling thoughts that have been left unchecked for years is that one day they grow so big that they expose themselves. They have a way of growing up behind you and making bunny ears. They mock you and demean you until one day you whip around and catch them in the act and tell them to beat it. By the time I had turned around and squared up eye to eye with the lie that the tedious work of housekeeping was a waste of time, I had unwittingly accepted years of shame and ridicule. My shoulders had slouched.
Once I started drop kicking the old nag called ‘The Maintenance Poem’, I began to speak truth to myself and remember the wisdom of others who have gone before me. Laundry means you have people. Even if you live alone, laundry means you are alive. Grocery shopping means you have money to buy groceries. Cleaning your house means you have a home. For awhile that made a huge difference but recently I have come to believe that a deeper level of joy and freedom can be attained.
What if the maintenance and the mundane are the real work? What if the weeding, again, and the sweeping, again, are the arrows pointing to, not just good, but glorious things? It is one thing to create something or complete a task for your job but what is meant to be happening in us each time we put our hand to something menial that we know will have to be done again? It is a continual, daily reminder that we have the opportunity to be part of renewal. We have the opportunity to show faithfulness and it is an act of defiance to a dying world as we say, I won’t give up. I will keep showing up to tell the world and those around me that they matter. Every day we get to tell ourselves and others that we are worthy of clean clothes and clean homes and cooked food. It is honorable work.
One day I may be courageous enough to omit the disclaimer paragraph but until then, here it is. Firstly, I am certain that the poet (whom I cannot remember) never intended to impose upon her readers to such a magnitude. I clearly ran with it but I have a suspicion that I am not alone. Secondly, something I am not saying is that a burgeoning love for tedious tasks should mean an impeccable home. As I sit writing, I am looking out at healthy amount of clutter and wondering what on earth we are going to have for dinner and that is perfectly fine. Lastly, we are all in different phases of our lives. Whether you are working full-time and doing chores when you get home or are able to hire someone to help you, there can still be peace and calmness that comes from the ordinary and boring tasks.
The lies surrounding maintenance and the mundane can be crippling and rob of us of so much joy. Even before the perfect images of curated lives on social media, the longing to matter beyond our folded piles of laundry and crumby counters has bred deep discontentment. I won’t lie, it is wonderful to hear praise from an employer or to see your creative offerings received with joy but as we approach the tedious work, done within the quiet of our homes, with a sense of privilege instead of dread, we can shed the dead weight of lies. I think that we can do more than make friends with doing our chores. I think we can find a solace and rhythm in them as we intentionally see them as signs of life.
