Several months ago, my husband and I took an SUV-load of material to the local recycling and transfer station. In the past, we would have called it a dump run. But these days, we’re more sensitive of the environment and more aware of the power of words. We recycled an old microwave oven in the appliance area, dropped off carefully flattened cardboard in the paper container, and, reluctantly pitched a small amount of material into the pile that was headed for the landfill. We pulled out of the transfer/recycling area, rolled onto the weigh station, and paid the cashier. I felt a distinctly pleasurable thrill driving home in an empty car to a tidier and more spacious garage. I have to say, the trip might have been the highlight of my week!
How and when did I become so boring?
With maturity, the commonplace has much more allure than it used to. It is gratifying to pay bills promptly, appealing to fold the last load of laundry on Sunday night, and almost intoxicating to come home from work when the yard crew has been there.
It hasn’t always been that way. When I was younger, it seemed that the daily routines of life were mind-numbing. I couldn’t enjoy the fragrant soapy smell when opening the dishwasher after its drying cycle because it meant that I had to unload and re-load it. Making my bed each morning was a grumpy little “should,” not a ritual that allowed me to appreciate the smooth texture of the colorful cotton duvet. Grabbing coffee at the drive through was always laced with impatience due to the complex drink order of the car in front of me.
I can’t say that the world has slowed down or lessened its stressful grasp on me, but I have become more attuned to little moments of pleasure. I am exhilarated by the perfect combination of fruit and nuts in my morning bowl of Wheat Chex. I am amused and heartened by watching our two dogs sort out their doggy drama and curl up in their beds at night. Listening to the banter of my adult children fills me with cheerful gratitude.
Exercise, too, has become the comforting routine that I turn to every day. I never tire of the cleansing scent of the outdoors, the ever-deepening volume of my breathing, or the gradual abatement of effort when I get to the top of an incline. Walking to my front door from the street with only a semblance of emerging daylight fills me with inspirational calm. Even the anticipatory thud of dropping my running shoes in the front hall basket is pleasing.
I suspect that the mundane and commonplace will become increasingly satisfying to me as time goes on. Perhaps it is a subconscious effort to forestall the pace of time due to a repressed awareness of its finite length. If so, I’m going to cut myself some slack and experience the unfettered joy of new vacuum cleaner bags being delivered today by Amazon.