The unfinishable projects of our lives

By Sonia Rebecca Menezes

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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.

Except—and this is a BIG except—this all sounds incredibly privileged if you don’t actually have the means to steer your present where you’d like. Or if you’re buried under responsibilities that make it impossible to create the future you want. We don’t live in an ideal world. Growing up means accepting that.

So yeah, that part sucks. I’m not going to pretend otherwise.

While writing this, I’ve been thinking about the mundane stuff that takes up most of our time. Not the big pivotal moments. The small, annoying, repetitive things: doing dishes, wiping down counters, making the bed, putting stuff away, cooking, doing more dishes.

It doesn’t matter how well you do them. They’ll need to be done again tomorrow. And the next day. And the day after that.

Adulting is one giant to-do list with the same shit on it, forever. That’s why we hate it. If we can outsource these tasks to someone else, we do. I outsource plenty myself so I can spend time on things that actually matter.

Things I enjoy. Things that MATTER.

BUT—

And normally I love buts… 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 crappy 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, seasons, harvests, animal migration, our menstrual cycles. All of it nurtures life through repetition. These things are productive BECAUSE they’re cyclical. Same thing, 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

We’re obsessed with growth. New projects, new achievements, new everything. But maintenance? Caring for what already exists? That’s not sexy. It doesn’t feel productive. It just feels like more work.

Our daily tasks—relationships, homes, cleaning—are more than checklists. They need our care and attention not for any reward, but because they’re part of being alive. Which sounds nice in theory but feels exhausting in practice.

If you walked into my house right now, you wouldn’t see me doing chores. You’d see me at my laptop writing an essay about why chores matter. The irony is not lost on me.

I still view most maintenance tasks as barriers to a fulfilling life. But I’m slowly starting to see them differently. As integral parts of a life well-lived instead of obstacles to one.

A little. Sometimes. Not always.

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.”

But here’s the annoying part: this rhythm never stops. It can easily become a stifling nightmare that robs you of the freedom to do anything else because you’re exhausted from all the doing.

If life is mostly just doing the same things over and over until you die, that can seem depressing. Which brings me to—

Everything is meaningless (but also not)

There’s this book in the Bible called Ecclesiastes. It was written by King Solomon, who was known for being incredibly wise and powerful. It’s one of the most beautiful pieces of writing I’ve ever read, and every time I revisit it, it shifts how I see things.

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––it all points to our living, our existence in the fleeting world of vapor, or hevel.

I guess what I love about the message of Ecclesiastes is that it’s NOT one of hopelessness. It’s a timeless guide that invites 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 beautiful 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 feel like they’re part of something important.

Not because being alive is always joyful, poignant, and beautiful. We all know that there are inevitable things about life that suck. But it takes some intentional effort 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 to recognize this: adulthood is about growing into yourself. And the tasks that come with it aren’t just obligations. They’re proof you’re here. That you’re alive enough to have responsibilities.

That’s something, I guess.