The simplicity of purpose

I'm sitting at a very “vibrant” boutique hotel lobby. All around me people buzz. Servers drop plates of fresh pressed quinoa, coyly trying to pass for burgers. A steady stream of convention attendees meekly file out of their luxury bus and form equally pedestrian lines at the front desk, which is one part UFO and two parts U2 stage prop. Others lounge, their eyes locked on their devices, as canned Brit-rock plays (a bit too loudly) in the background.

On the surface all looks well, but look a bit closer and it’s a meta narrative for all the ails of society.

Big leap eh. Too big? Too harsh – I know I know snarky writers should never simply sit there and judge, after all my least favorite quality is someone who takes himself or herself too seriously. Well that and people who shred unsuspecting hotel lobby décor, especially after they enjoyed a perfectly good arugula salad.

But my beef (or pressed quinoa if you will) isn’t with this particular establishment, instead it’s really more of a systemic social issue. And no I’m not going to go down an anti-Trump rabbit hole, though I’m sure you can imagine my stance on this POTUS’s politics, instead I want to focus on something we‘re in control of. Something we can actually change.

Ourselves.

But why. We’re not the problem right. We’re socially conscious. We eat kale (sometimes). We recycle. And we know the passwords to all our kid’s social channels.

Yet somethings missing isn’t it. I call it The Never-ending Story Syndrome – that’s my ultra-official title for it. See I told you I don’t like people taking themselves seriously.

For those less familiar, the story tells of an ominous “nothingness” that is sweeping across the land destroying everything in its path. It is the most terrifying kind of foe because it is completely formless and it’s destruction so absolute. Anyone who has seen the movie can attest to the atomic like nature of this sadness, as it levels trees and reduces an entire kingdom to one tiny grain of sand.

Now I’m not saying that we all have this crushing “nothingness” lying dormant deep inside us but I am presupposing that we don’t all bounce out of bed with the same spit and vinegar as our forefathers.

The reason, I believe, is we lack true connection.

It’s not that we are inherently unhappy sitting in this hotel lobby. Just ask any of the ladies who are lunching – the Lululemon clad millennial binge watching the Bachelor late night with a glass of sauv blanc in her hand – if she’s momentarily content and (depending on her relationship status) she’ll likely answer yes. And yet if she were to turn off her tv and silence her devices she might be able to carve out just enough silence to hear the faint call from deep within.

The nothingness.

The feeling is so subtle it can be tough to notice. The best way to describe it is as if you are looking outside your own life wondering if everyone else feels as lost as you do. And as you look outward, you can’t help but question, the value of your friendships (why don’t they feel like they did as a kid), your relationship (he’s still as handsome so why does sex after the baby not feel the same) your interests (the songs sound the same but I just can’t into it like I used to).

It’s not tree leveling but the nothingness is enough to mute the joy in your life and rob you of many happy years filled with true connection. It’s a feeling akin to walking around in a daze and floating through moments propelled by sheer momentum or even worse an in-organic sense of purpose.

Some people, like myself are a bit too aware. I spent years chasing down alternative feelings to quiet that voice. I took art classes. I ran ultra-marathons. I dabbled in vegetarianism and started writing again. The results were superficial – a band-aid instead of a sucher to heal this tiny hole. I was seeking the wrong salve – instead of hunting for connection like I should have been, I was distracted by a misguided sense of purpose.

It wasn’t till years later after my first son was born that I finally found an antidote and in the most surprising place – my kitchen sink.

I was elbow deep in warm soapy water washing bottles and thinking about how long it had been since I had simultaneously gotten my hands dirty (and clean). Having spent my whole life with a dishwasher, I had never really cleaned much by hand if anything at all. In fact like so many Americans, I grew up in a supremely suburban house with all the conveniences of modern life.

I hadn’t realized that over the years those very conveniences intended to make my life easier were simply making me feel less useful. As a girl who spent her collective (and apparently somewhat cliché) middle school years being told not to get dirty; rooting around in a sloppy sink wasn’t high on my list of fave activities. And yet (surprisingly) cleaning the bottles became a daily chore that nourished me in a way that I never expected. It was simple. I didn’t take on a new religion or give away all my earthly possession. I didn’t finally have that heart to heart with my dad or volunteer at the local children hospital. I just did something simple and meaningful and it in turn reconnected me with the daily act of living.

Instead of outsourcing the work to a machine as we so often do, I was taking matters (literally) into my own hands. The combination of the warm water mixed with the immediacy of the results made me feel …. well actually purposeful again.

Was this what true connection felt like.

This was simpler then I expected it to feel. It came when I avoided doing things the easy way, when I disconnected from convenience and enjoyed the simple act of taking action.

Simply put washing bottles made me feel again. It was sensory and calming. It cleared my mind and also reminded me what was important. And it made me feel connected with the daily act of living in a way no reddit article ever has.

It sounds too simple to be true and a bit sexist as well (must be noted that my husband routinely rolls up his sleeves as well) but it is true. Here I was a liberal modern woman espousing the poetic and personal value of hand washing bottles. So prosaic. But I challenge you to try it. To find a task that can be easily outsourced and dig in. What happens when we put down our screens and look up again. Better yet when we head out into the garden or garage and get a bit dirty. To fix or create something with our hands - or touch and engage with the simple tasks that make up this big and beautiful life.

It’s something I want to start doing more of. If not only to keep my dishes clean but also to keep the nothingness at bay.

So as I close out and look up from this screen, I can’t help but wonder if they need any help in kitchen.