For me, doing laundry is generally one of those monotonous tasks that can bring an otherwise lively day to its knees. Be it the setting of a damp, unfinished basement; the jarring sound of the drier buzzer; or perhaps the infrequency with which I’ve had to attend to this necessary matter over the years, there is something about laundry that dims my mood. In fact, I’ve come to realize that laundry extracts from me and reveals of me a childish attitude – one not of glee, but of sluggish submission.
I’m not sure that I ever made a conscious decision to stop loathing laundry, but I do know that I learned to make it more enjoyable. How? Childish enthusiasm, of course.
One day, rather than slogging through the process, I decided to run – er, scamper, more appropriately. From the washer to the drier. From the drier to the washer. To and fro. Back and forth. Up and down the stairs (with tact, no doubt). Arms full of wet clothes and momentum on my side, I launched freshly plucked t-shirts and gold-toed socks through the dry basement air. My feet were nimble, my spirit alive. Surmounting my basement staircase, I wore a wry smile. I had conquered monotony.
I haven’t stopped doing laundry this way. I do my best to fly like the wind (Bullseye). Approach — in any walk of life — can make quite the difference.