You can find my first essay on adulting here.
This is the second part, and it speaks to why the ‘adulting’-ey tasks we often see as pointless (because they require tending to over and over and over again) might have a more profound, beautiful, life-altering meaning than we could ever possibly imagine.
I’m so excited to write this!!!!
To bring you up to speed,
‘Adulting’ is a catch-all phrase to describe the tasks and responsibilities associated with being a grown-up. It’s the endless to-do list, the chores, the consequences, and the constraints. And pretty much since the word was coined in 2014, adulting has had a bad rap.
When we view growing up through the lens of obligations and responsibilities, we miss the fact that adulthood is actually really empowering. Adults have autonomy. We have the incredible privilege of decision-making!!
We can eat what we want, sleep at any bedtime, and decide what we want for breakfast. But the real empowerment of adulthood isn’t about what we can consume, but what we can create. Every single day, we get to design a life that reflects our values. We have the ability to interpret our past, steer our present, and imagine our future.
But all this sounds incredibly privileged – especially if we don’t have the means to steer our present where we’d like. Or if we’re shackled with responsibilities that screw up our ability to create the future we want. We don’t live in an ideal world, and growing up means accepting that.
So I agree, that bit is hard. It sucks sometimes.
In the process of writing these essays, I’ve been thinking about certain aspects of adulthood in particular. Not the big pivotal stuff, but the mundane stuff that takes up a lot of our time: doing the dishes, wiping down a kitchen counter, making the bed, putting stuff away, putting clothes away, cooking for ourselves, doing more dishes –
It doesn’t matter how well you do them; they’ll need to be done again. And again.
Adulting is just one giant to-do list with the same stuff on it. These repetitive, mundane tasks are a pain, and that’s why we hate them so much. If we’re able to outsource them to someone else, we do. I outsource a lot of these tasks too. That way, I can free up time to do more meaningful things.
Things I actually enjoy. Things that MATTER.
BUT–
Let’s talk about doing the dishes for a moment. It’s annoying. Washing dishes is a time-suck. It provides no gratification.
We’ll assume you cannot outsource this task to anyone else. YOU, the reader, must be the doer of dishes. The way I see it, you have two ways to approach this task. Please ignore these shoddy acronyms.
The LATEOTT approach
This stands for the ‘light at the end of the tunnel’ approach.
Meaning that your goal in doing the dishes is to have DONE the dishes. The joy is found in the empty sink, with no more dishes to do. You’re striving past the pissing-offness of washing and rinsing an oily handi so you can enjoy the dopamine hit of a clean kitchen. This is wonderful.
The JITM approach
This stands for the ‘joy in the moment’ approach.
This is an easier one to explain, but it sounds more absurd to practice. Here, your goal in doing the dishes isn’t merely to finish them off. It’s to actually enjoy doing the dishes. It’s to celebrate the fact that you GET to do the dishes. Maybe to celebrate the fact that you have dishes; you have food to dirty them. To delight in your ability to take care of yourself.
It’s about experiencing the satisfaction from a job well done, and feeling a sense of effectiveness and presence in the world. This is wonderful and, in some ways, profound too.
What is cyclical is often nurturing.
Life happens in cycles. The solar system, nature, harvests, animal migration, our hormones – they nurture life through repeated cycles. They’re productive BECAUSE they’re cyclical. It’s not something new every single time, it’s the same thing – again, and again and again.
There’s a book called ‘How to Do Nothing’ by Jenny Odell that I haven’t read yet, but I found references to it in a few of the articles I read about our relationship with chores. And here’s a quote that I love:
“In the context of health and ecology, things that grow unchecked are often considered parasitic or cancerous. Yet, we inhabit a culture that privileges novelty and growth over the cyclical and the regenerative. Our very idea of productivity is premised on the idea of producing something new, whereas we do not tend to see maintenance and care as productive in the same way.”
Jenny Odell
Our daily tasks, whether it’s nurturing relationships, caring for our homes, or even cleaning, are more than just checklists to be completed. These routines require our care and attention, not for any tangible reward but for their intrinsic significance.
What’s the significance of doing the dishes?
Look, if you were to walk into my house right now, you wouldn’t see me doing chores. You’d see me sitting at a laptop, doing what I love – which is writing an essay to tell you to do your chores.
As I said, I still tend to view maintenance tasks like dishes, laundry, cooking, and cleaning as barriers and inconveniences to a fulfilling life. But I’m slowly starting to see them as integral facets of a life well-lived, and from that lens their burdensome nature is starting to melt away.
A little.
Haley Nahman’s essay called Mark this off your to-do list has great insight here –
“Caring for ourselves, for other people, for our homes, for plants and other animals—these are the unfinishable projects of our lives. We do them over and over not to conquer them, or for personal gain, but to maintain and nourish them, with no greater expectation. Given how swayed humans are by the pursuit of growth, wealth, ownership, and power, I think this is very sweet and pure. At their best, chores remind me that life is worth living not because it grows and grows and grows in a linear way, but because it’s cyclical: always starting over, ending, and starting again.”
There’s a harmonious rhythm to our daily routine – a balance between labor and leisure, duty and delight – that offers comfort and grounding.
But the annoying thing about this harmonious rhythm is that it never stops. It never ends. It can easily turn into a stifling, time-consuming nightmare that robs us of the freedom to do anything else because we’re so damn tired from all the doing.
Now obviously this is a joke, but the endless tasks that come with life are not. And if life is mostly just doing the same things over and over again until you die, that’s a little depressing.
Hevel, hevel, hevel
The book of Ecclesiastes was written by King Solomon, a powerful historical figure known for his wisdom, riches, and influence. Ecclesiastes is perhaps one of the most beautiful pieces of literature I have ever read, and every time I read it, it shapes my worldview a little more.
There are many phrases and passages from the book that have become a part of mainstream culture, like: All come from dust, and to dust all return.
And this beautiful passage that is often read out at funerals:
And this beautiful passage that is usually read during weddings:
I could go on and on about sections of the book that are profound and wise. It’s full of personal reflections, meditations, and instructions on the meaning and purposes of life from Solomon’s perspective – he talks about wisdom, futility, riches, servants, hedonism, productivity, and humble self-realization.
BUT – this is the opening line of the book:
“Everything is meaningless, completely meaningless!”
I love it. It gets me every single time!
All through Ecclesiastes, you’ll find the word ‘meaningless’. The Hebrew word for it is ‘hevel’. It’s usually translated as ‘vanity’, but its literal definition is vapor or smoke. Something fleeting, and intangible.
The book repeatedly refers to the meaningless of life, the pointlessness of everything we do. All our toiling, all our work, all our legacy – it amounts to nothing.
According to Solomon, most of life was meaningless vanity. Or hevel.
The future? Hevel (11:8)
Seeking pleasure? Hevel (2:1)
Work? Hevel (2:11)
Being extremely wise? Also hevel (2:15)
Delayed gratification? Hevel (4:7-8)
Trusting in humanity? Hevel (4:16)
Having money and abundance? Hevel again (5:10)
Laughter? Apparently also hevel (7:6)
What might look like a very nihilistic, depressing book, actually contains the most profound perspective on life and adulting I have ever read. This is because at the core of Ecclesiastes is a contradiction.
One on hand, all our pursuits, our desires, and actions are as fleeting as vapor. They’re hevel. And on the other, the book tells us to actively engage with life. To truly LIVE. Despite the transience, despite the ‘hevel’.
It teaches us that even if all is vanity under the sun, there’s still beauty in every breath we take, every task we accomplish, and every connection we make. Basically –
Life is pointless,
But living isn’t.
If we’ve become cynical about being an ‘adult’, I think it’s because at some level, even just for a moment, we’ve come face to face with the pointlessness of everything we’re doing. Chasing ambition, acquiring wealth, and seeking pleasure – as we grow up, we realize that none of these things are truly worth it.
We spend most of our life in the cyclical nature of our routines, working, eating, sleeping, only to repeat it all again. “What does the worker gain from his toil?” Ecclesiastes asks. And we’ve asked this question too.
And so, Ecclesiastes pushes us to the brink of existentialism, making us question the very essence of our lives, but in the end, it doesn’t leave us there. It provides a perspective that is both somber and hopeful.
The repeated tasks of our daily lives are what stitch together the fabric of our existence. There is beauty, and most importantly, there is meaning in acknowledging this cycle. All our tasks, every responsibility – they’re a testament to our living, our existence in the fleeting world of vapor, or hevel.
In the end, the message of Ecclesiastes is not one of hopelessness. It serves as a timeless guide, inviting us to see beyond the vanity and embrace the sacredness of life’s cycles. It reminds us that though everything may seem like a vain pursuit, when viewed through the lens of reverence and gratitude, life becomes a gift. A privilege that the dead no longer possess.
Yes, everything under the sun IS vanity, and if you try to find significance there, you’ll fail. But if you’ve ever longed for something more enduring, something that says you have eternal importance beyond the sun – THAT’S what Ecclesiastes points to:
A longing for eternity in your heart.
Back to the dishes
The reason I’m writing this essay isn’t because I think we ought to derive our life’s meaning from cleaning the kitchen and doing chores. It’s not because I think those activities are inherently wonderful, and we’re all just too cranky to realize it.
I’ve spent a lot of my time postponing and dreading the things I need to do. I’ve often felt burdened by the activities that make up running a home and caring for a child. It can feel a little bleak. The days all blur into one, filled with feeding, naps, and nappies. And this isn’t because I have no help or support in any of these tasks. I have more than I could ask for.
I’m trying to change my perspective.
I want to get to a place where I can find joy in the routines that make up my life. When people talk about ‘living life to the fullest’, I’ve felt uneasy with the idea that fullness is found in grand, mountain-top moments. I want to reach a place of contentment where ‘living well’ means caring for my surroundings, the people in my life, and the things that have been entrusted to me.
It’s with that intention that I’m writing this. Not because I’ve reached Solomon’s level of zen, or because I want to check myself out of this capitalistic society and ponder life’s profundities while constantly wiping down a kitchen.
So, having said that, here are a few things I’m doing to incorporate this way of thinking into my normal, regular life. Maybe they’ll work for you too, or maybe they’re just things to think about. I’ve been doing them for the last couple of months and so far, they’ve really helped me feel more content with my life.
Exploring new routines
I’m the kind of person that finds a lot of comfort in predictable routine. BUT, I’m also embracing the fact that it’s quite enriching to switch things up and be okay with the discomfort. That’s part of the reason I’ve been traveling so frequently even though it completely and utterly jacks up my routine. But new routine doesn’t only have to be travel. It can be as basic as taking a different route to work, or rearranging your living space. Or working from a new spot or cafe. These small changes can make the familiar feel new again.
Learning small, new things
I’m also trying to challenge the idea that only ‘big’ knowledge is worth pursuing. I’ve been enjoying lots of ‘small’ knowledge stuff. Like pottery or baking bread. I’m reading about my favorite food and how the ingredients came to be. Like the bizarre history of Manhattan and its link with nutmeg. (Yeah, the spice nutmeg.) Even though I spend a lot of time online, which inevitably means being bombarded by awful news about the world we inhabit, soaking up lots of ‘small’ knowledge has helped me feel a little less cynical about life.
This is what it means to be alive.
This is something I’ve committed to telling myself every day. Out loud. Even though it’s cringe and lame and way too earnest for my liking.
I tell myself, ‘This is what it means to be alive,’ as I go through certain parts of my day. Sometimes it’s while changing diapers or feeding a baby. Sometimes it’s while watching the most captivating sunset or staring at the full moon. Sometimes it’s while making my bed. Sometimes it’s while opening my laptop to clear out my inbox. But I tell myself out loud: This is what it means to be alive. And for some reason, those moments have a little more meaning.
Not because being alive is always joyful, poignant, and beautiful. We all know that it isn’t. It takes wisdom to realize that while our days might sometimes feel mundane or routine, the sum of those days amounts to a life that’s uniquely our own.
I’m just starting out on this journey of recognition. Adulthood isn’t just about growing older; it’s about growing into myself. And the tasks that growing up comes with shouldn’t just be recognized as ends in and of themselves, but inalienable rights belonging to anyone lucky enough to be alive.
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