Transitory summer

I last posted my Again and then found this on Facebook, via a friend I know who has struggled since the death of her husband—many years ago now, but the feels are still real.

RUN THE DISHWASHER TWICE.

When I was at one of the lowest points in my life, even getting out of bed felt impossible. I had no energy, no motivation, and was barely surviving.

Once a week, I’d drag myself to therapy. But during one session, I had nothing to say. My therapist asked how my week had been, and all I could muster was, “I dunno, man. Life.”

He wasn’t satisfied. “No, what exactly are you struggling with right now? When you go home after this session, what will be staring you in the face?”

I hesitated, embarrassed by the answer. I wanted something more meaningful to say, something bigger. But the truth was so small. Finally, I admitted, “Honestly? The dishes. It’s stupid, I know. The more I look at them, the more I can’t do them. I’ll have to scrub them first because the dishwasher sucks, and I just can’t stand there and scrub.”

I felt ridiculous. How could a grown woman be undone by dishes? But my therapist didn’t judge. He just nodded and said, *“Run the dishwasher twice.”*

I started to argue that you’re not supposed to, but he cut me off. *“Why not? If your dishwasher sucks and you don’t want to scrub, run it twice. Run it three times. Who cares? There are no rules.”*

His words blew my mind in a way I can’t fully explain.

That day, I went home, threw the dirty dishes in the dishwasher, and ran it three times. It felt like slaying a dragon. The next day, I took a shower lying down. A few days later, I folded my laundry and put it wherever it fit. Suddenly, there were no arbitrary rules holding me back, and I could start accomplishing things again.

Now that I’m in a healthier place, I rinse my dishes, I shower standing up, and I sort my laundry. But back when living felt like a struggle instead of a blessing, I learned one of the most important lessons of my life:

THERE ARE NO RULES. RUN THE DISHWASHER TWICE.

Author | Kate Scott 

This post was especially relevant because some time yesterday morning I had a meltdown. I wanted to sit and write but life kept getting in the way, or else I was letting it get in the way—meaning: I didn’t want to write. I was scared to come back to the page. Most writing is difficult, and lately I’ve been having a physical reaction to having to create.

Either it’s raining outside and it’s making me sad or sunny and too nice to be stuck inside. Either I’m worried about politics or feeling so hopeful about change that I’m giddy and too excited to write. Either my grandson is banging on my door wanting to come in and asking for a graham cracker or else I’m wishing he’ll interrupt my malaise and make me stand up. Either I’m having a snack or wanting a snack, instead of writing. Always, instead of doing the thing I feel I NEED to do.

Except yesterday, on my one full day off, I decided to stop making myself and sat outside in the sunshine and finished reading a book. An acclaimed novel about the breakdown of East Germany during an affair between a young woman and an older man. It was one of those books where every paragraph feels metaphorically important, a bit weary. Yet, it was what I needed on this summer day.

Why is it that summer in mid-August always feels so precious? It’s as if it will be leaving us soon. Pre-empted for another season and time. A bit like the clingy affair in the novel when the characters know all the while it is transitory—even the state they are living in will one day go away.

So in the middle of self-incrimination, feelings of inadequacy, that I’m not really a writer, I decided not to write but to dwell in contemplation and languor.

Hoping the next day, today, I’ll be ready to face the page. Again.