Ataraxia

6-2

I’ve never found a way to be angry over misplaced drops of scalding hot coffee - even as it explodes outward into the fabric of my denim shorts and sneaks close to warm my skin - and I don’t know if I am more enlightened or if maybe everyone else has more sensitivity in certain neural matter than I do.

Another incident that points me in the same conclusory direction is the sound of my voice trying to convey the feeling of whole and perfect bliss found in sweeping leaves off a dear friend’s porch and woefully falling short. But how am I supposed to explain the glow of acceptance welling in my heart from performing someone else’s household chores alongside them - what closer access is there to the inside than to help polish the rocks into the gems put on display? To see the start AND the middle, to witness bickerings and making-ups, forehead kisses and shared jokes... to take a baby on a walk around the block, her parents at home taking advantage of the free time.

...and that to stand in the golden hour with broom in hand is to feel the welcomed weight of trust, the realizations of mutual respect and love. To look at growing blisters on my hands with fondness and a feeling of accomplishment, to skip over “dread” at doing chores and relish each moment. To give my full attention to what I am doing and cherish the task, and at the same time allow my brain the freedom to skip the scene entirely to float along and think about anything. Oh, to find joy in work.

It is my goal to let people discover, if they pay attention, the depths of my immediate affection.

That I delight in helping with chores because seeing them happy makes me happy, that my involvement in these domestic team sports means they want me in a jersey with my own spot on their field.

Oh, to have a collection of jerseys in my closet, hanging still and safe for access at any time.

VIP passes into a family for a day.

Oh, to have a pack.

But imagine the disconnect when I try to explain that cleaning up a septic tank’s worth of labrador diarrhea was actually not that bad, just something I had to do, because my brother and sister in law trusted me enough to grant me entry into their home to watch their dog and key to their car to drive while they were gone. Can you understand that thought process? Bent over, trying not to retch, feeling more love for my adopted family and concern for their pet than disgust or anger at the task before me. 

Even if I had the time or off-the-cuff eloquence there is simply no way I can speak an entire essay anytime someone asks me what I did this weekend so I say, smiling proudly, that I swept a porch. That I cleaned up dog shit. 
That I am an invited member, present for day to day minutiae, and that the thought of my membership makes me beam with pride.

I just want it known that the clear Epicurean happiness I feel when I’m working side by side with people I deeply respect is easily the most profound and fulfilling sensation I have ever felt.