The Importance of Ignoring Housework
On domesticity, creativity and parenting. "It has taken me nine years of motherhood to learn what it takes to get creative work done: gross negligence."
“Along with the differences that abide in each of us, there is also in each of us the maverick, the darling stubborn one who won’t listen, who insists, who chooses preference or the spirited guess over yardsticks or even history. I suspect this maverick is somewhat what the soul is, or at least that the soul lives close by and companionably with its agitating and inquiring force.” – Mary Oliver, Long Life: Essays and Other Writings
On Saturday morning I hosted a pancake and fort-making party for two. One guest was seven, one was nine; one my son, the other his neighbor. As the cacophony grew in ever increasing complexity I thought, why not add more to this mix and invite our neighbor’s mom up for tea too. She is a photographer, podcaster and single mom and I knew that this population increase would either add to the din (which I was fine with) or provide some kind of psychological life vest of camaraderie. Understandably, it was both: we were now two adults, two kids and a baby. While the baby kept reaching for the egg yolk and the boys built two story hide-outs in the couch, we agreed on one thing: the importance of ignoring housework.
As creative people, this is essential. It has taken me nine years of motherhood to learn what it takes to get creative work done: gross negligence. The only way my work is going to happen is if I shut off the part of my brain that wants to organize, clean, tidy and generally problem solve everything it can see or consider. “Sure, later we can rearrange the hallway closet and the shoe pile, but for now, it’s more important to do the work of your soul,” I tell myself with a matronly pat. “Yes, you can do the thrilling task of scouring the sink and disappearing all the laundry shortly, but for now, you need to plumb the depths of your subconscious.” As long as my children are fed and safe, I’ve learned not to care what state the house is in or whether the mail is sorted. Instead I need to contact the bright cord of hope within me, to pierce the luminous veil that separates me from myself, to dive and splatter and turn in a sea that never leaves me.
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