 |
 |
exhausting trying to live lightly
on the earth while keeping my
family and work life in balance
and getting the kids to bed on
time. And last night, when I
came home from work and saw
the dishes piled up in the sink
and on the counter, the cereal
boxes out, the bowls of milk
from the morning meal on the
table full of warm and soggy
corn flakes, I was… well, let’s
just call it "upset."
would have been shrieking. This one was calm, even generous.) I realized: Amy, if you
want to be happy tonight you can just do those dishes. I put my things away, kissed
everyone hello and rolled up my sleeves. As I squeezed the soap into the sponge, I watched
my thoughts, surprised that instead of the muttering or blaming voice, that calm one was
still there. I didn’t feel put upon or sorry for myself. I didn’t yell or blame anyone. And in
that moment, up to my elbows in soapy water, I had an epiphany: I am responsible for my
own experience. Now, don’t get me wrong. This doesn't mean that it's now okay for the
whole family to leave their messes to me: it isn't. But this wasn’t about that. This was
about “state” and the state I was after was “peace.” And the way to achieve that peace was
to peacefully, gently, go about making things the way I wanted them to be. I don’t think I’
m overstating things to say that with that one little gesture, I changed the world. Oh, I
know, this didn’t put an end to homelessness or the exploitation of the earth’s resources
and all that blah-blah-blah. It did absolutely nothing to close the ozone hole or the nuclear
plant across the river. But for the first time in my life, I think I understood what Gandhi
meant when he said, “We must be the change we want to see in the world.” In that
moment, as I was scrubbing grease from cooking pots and peanut butter from knives,
feeling absolutely okay—even kind of enjoying it— the world gave a little sigh and
changed. And that night, when I tucked in my kids without blame or retribution, so did
they. There’s a place for protest and agitation. But it wasn’t my place. That night, my
place was at home, doing the dishes. It’s good to know what your work is so you don’t feel
guilty when you miss a meeting or your conscience calls and asks, “Don’t you CARE about
the starving children?” You can stand there being who you are—knowing you have clean
dishes and a peaceful home—and tell her, “Yes, I care —and sometimes my way of saving
the world is the simple act of doing the dishes.”