A while back, on a writing retreat, I was catching up with a friend who'd moved away several months beforehand. She'd moved, on fairly short notice, in a flurry of activity, to an area where she knew precisely no one. Settling in and getting her three boys into a routine had taken some time, leaving her with little opportunity for writing. When I asked how she felt about it, she shrugged. "It's like that cop show, Life," she said. "There's an episode where a Zen master makes his students dig a hole in the ground, then fill it up again. That's kind of where I'm at right now. I do laundry, it gets dirty. I clean up from breakfast, it's time to make lunch. And the key is just to accept that, rather than be frustrated by it, and then it doesn't take up so much of your energy. Dig a hole, fill it up."
Now, I have no idea if that's the lesson Damian Lewis and co. wanted us to glean from that episode, but since that day, I've often found myself muttering it whenever I'm stuck on an endless loop of chores, in the hope that I will feel more zen-like and serene. (I think D will be the first one to point out that, thus far, my hopes have gone unrealized. Zen-like and serene I am not.) And while this project is different -- there is tangible progress being made -- the saying still applies.
The box went to a friend's charity; the bags went to the library. For a few brief moments, I savored the sensation of progress and an empty van.
Then I stopped by the school, where the office ladies had a treat for me.
Dig a hole, fill it up.
