I’m writing this while holed up in the nicely appointed laundry room my landlord has carved out of the basement of a small brick apartment building in Brooklyn. There is a nice futon, magazines, books, a fan, a sip sink, large folding table and a free washer and dryer. It’s always clean and the entryway leads to our shared backyard. I’ve already washed and folded a couple of loads, which I had to re-sort because my artist-daughter is serious about making sure that similar hues are grouped together. No one has the desire or time to wash 50-11 micro loads.
As I lamented about doing laundry (it’s another chore!), I remembered how washing and folding were a meditative practice for me. I got caught up I the thoughts of labor, but forgot that sometimes labor is in service to other things, like my spirit. It also helps the I get to be alone in a space that is not my apartment. While I love my apartment and all the ways it supports me, I feel as though I always have to be in charge in that space. The dueling roles of mama and educator make it difficult for me to relax although it’s not like I don’t try. I do, I really do.
I need more spaces like this laundry room. Spaces where I don’t have to be on. Spaces where I can lean out of the world with ease. Spaces where I can just do/be without guilt. See, guilt is the kicker. Whenever I am upstairs in my apartment, relaxation or chilling, comes with a pang of guilt. I should be doing something — cleaning, grading, writing, editing, helping… Sometimes I just want to eat an orange and watch and episode of Murder, She Wrote. And while I do manage to allow myself that time, my brain is shaming me like a Caribbean grandmother. Sometimes (lots of times!), the guilt freezes me. It becomes this cycle whereby I feel guilty for not doing, then I do a load of administrative and personal work, then I am too tired to be creative, then I feel shameful, then I try to reset/rest, then guilt. Wash, rinse, repeat.
I’ve had friends tell me that I am on this merry go round because I do’t take time to mark my important milestones. I don’t celebrate myself enough. If I celebrated, that would help fuel my creativity and the rest I need, they say. I give them the side eye, but I know they are somewhat right. The thing is, my idea of celebration isn’t a large group of people (though I do accept gifts), it’s time alone. Now, if someone wants to throw me a shindig and all I have to do is show up, that’s another story. But the work that has to go into large and even smedium celebrations is not work that I care for. Give me a weekend, or even a day away to just be.
I’m going to create more spaces like this. This few hours away from the world in the laundry room are exactly what I needed. I will celebrate myself for whatever reason (big or small) in my own way, whenever I want or need to. It’s time I hop off this merry go round.
Eesh, this was a phenomenal read. Thank you, for sharing. I hope you eat the orange and watch murder she wrote with no guilt, blame or shame.