By: Brian Peterson
They say the older you get, the more you learn about yourself…
…I never thought I’d learn that I love washing dishes.
My parents couldn’t have paid me enough money to wash dishes when I was a kid. I thought it was disgusting—scraping nasty food particles off of dishes; lipstick off of glasses. Of course, I did it anyway because I “had” to, but I sure whined about it.
As I hit my late teens, however, it didn’t bother me as much. Maybe it’s because I got used to doing it due to my high school / college job working at an ice cream store. You’d have to wash these metal collars that were used to make medium sized shakes and malts. They protected your fingers from the shake/malt machine and kept the candy inside. When we’d get busy, we’d run out of them really quickly. For some reason I always volunteered to wash them. This is probably partially because I wanted a break from the annoying customers. But after a while I actually started to like the actual process of running those cylindrical smooth metal protectors underneath the often near-scalding hot water.
By my mid-twenties I started to graciously volunteer to do dishes at family get-togethers. I’d get shot down sometimes, but often the gesture was appreciated. I am not a fan of drying dishes, so I’d strike a bargain: “I’ll wash if you dry.” Most tended to go for it.
After getting married I became the resident “dish-doer.” When she was a child, my wife helped her dad wash dishes at the restaurant he owned for a couple of years. She’s spoken of nightmarish dish “tours of duty” in which she scrubbed brains off of frying pans; wiped thick layers of grease off of plates. She’s hated doing them ever since. Luckily for her my childhood experiences weren’t as traumatizing, so I jumped at the opportunity to “claim” the dish duty…as long as she was willing to dust (one of my least favorite things to do).
We’ve now been married for roughly five years and there’s rarely a day that goes by when I don’t do the dishes. Although a sink full of dishes can be annoying at first sight (“Why did we use five glasses between the two of us today?!”), when the water starts flowing and the soap suds emerge, a calm washes over me.
I think it boils down to this: the older we get the more we have on our minds. I know my mind rarely shuts off—it’s always comparing, contrasting, analyzing, probing. It’s interesting but also sort of frustrating. Instead of just letting things be or relaxing in the moment, I’m often focused on the thousand other things on my “check list” for the week. But when I wash dishes, my mind achieves a kind of clarity. I focus my entire being on the task at hand. Sure, random thoughts do pop into focus, but they often wash away as quickly as the bread crumbs and orange juice residue.
I’ve read that monks from various faiths often adore working on menial and even labor intensive tasks in order to take their mind off of things. The work, though often strenuous, allows their minds to relax, which often brings about mental peace.
I think dish washing has that same impact on me. It allows me to relax and be in the moment—something I’m often striving to do through various other more direct activities. You’d think it would take something more profound to achieve these results. But maybe that’s the point. We’re often searching for the wondrous in every direction other than right in front of our nose.
I know dish washing is far from nirvana, but maybe it’s a step in the right direction.
