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Colorado Yogi in NYC

Yogic Lessons from Life's (mis)Adventures

Slowing Down (or Lessons from the Laundromat)

Originally published Mar 2, 2018

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Monday was laundry day, and to ensure that I wouldn't procrastinate on it yet another day, I decided to make it the first thing I did that morning. I crawled out of bed, brushed my teeth, washed my face, shoved my dirty laundry into my bag (thankfully remembering my detergent), and set off down the street to the laundromat.

 

The laundromat is a necessity of life in NYC. Every two weeks, or month, or more (depending on the size of your closet--or, more accurately, your underwear drawer--and your commitment to avoiding laundry) you haul your things down the street or around the corner to your nearest/favorite laundry place and wash and dry your clothing, towels, and sheets surrounded by a bunch of strangers. There is also the option to drop off your laundry and let someone else do it, but I haven't yet decided to try this method. (I have too many sweaters and wool socks that have to be line dried, and I still can't quite fathom someone who's not family or a significant other handling my dainties.)

 

For a reason I can't wholly explain, I dread laundry day. Frankly, I think it's in the same way that I used to dread washing dishes or tidying my room. It's not that I actually dislike the task, it's that somewhere in my life, I was conditioned to dislike things that were deemed chores. In fact, the very word, "chore," is filled with negative connotations: Something that you don't want to do but rather have to do. When, in fact, it's really supposed to just be a job or a task.

 

Society conditions us to think of our chores as a negative thing. As a kid, they keep us from playing. As an adult, they usually come with a mocking "hashtag adulting." But, when I step back from it, I actually enjoy washing dishes. It's a task I kind of cherish these days. Warm water and soap, making glasses sparkle, the chance to show respect and love for my roommate(s) by keeping a shared space tidy. And, if you keep up with doing them, each round of dishes barely takes any time to do!

 

Working at a yoga studio, I'm constantly doing laundry: running towels through the wash and folding them by the dozens. I've found that I actually enjoy it! Folding towels naturally becomes a meditative practice for me. My world slows and focuses: matching edges, smoothing fabric, creating creases, making stacks of like sizes, and just breathing. It's magnificent and incredibly tranquil. It's my newest form of a "yoga high."

 

Yet, shoving my dirty laundry into my bag to head to the laundromat on Monday morning, I still felt like I was gearing up for battle. I speed-walked my way there (barely dodging a couple of cars as a darted stupidly into the crosswalk), determined to bang out my laundry. Two hours or less. In and out. Get. It. Done. I was a woman on a mission to complete this "chore." I opened a washer and started shoving my things in. Dark clothes safely stowed, I picked the next available washer and shoved my lights/whites into it. I poured detergent into the washers, ran across the store to re-fill my laundry card and back to start the washers. Then I ran into my first problem: the washer with my light clothes in it wouldn't start.

 

As I glared at it and jammed on the buttons--finally noticing there was a bug sitting between the glass and the dark digital screen, but still mulishly trying to make it start--one of the laundry attendants came over and pointed to the blank screen, saying the machine didn't work. Frustrated by the setback, I looked around for another.

 

It was the stereotypical laundromat scene: All of the machines were either taken or out of order. ("Why do they all have 'No Use' signs, except for the one I chose!" my disgruntled mind yelled.) One woman had an entire wall of the smallest machines filled. The only available washer was the jumbo triple-loader, way bigger than necessary for my little pile of clothes. Even still, I yanked my clothes out of the broken washer and transferred them to this industrial giant, thinking "Well, at least my clothes will have plenty of room." I poured my detergent in and finally had two running washers. I sat, only half-reading my book as I looked repeatedly from washer to washer, urging them to be finished.

 

What seemed like an eternity later, both washers buzzed and I yanked my clothes out, sorting them into what would go into the dryer and what I would run back to hang up in my apartment to air dry. As I wheeled my cart to the dryers, the next part of my stereotypical NYC laundromat story fell into place: The first dryer I put my clothes into was also out of order! Again, the laundry attendant came over to tell me it wouldn't work. Neither would the one next to it. Or the next one. Or the next one. Frustrated, I asked where I could find a working one, and she pointed me to the back of the store. But, on getting back there, I found that some woman had put a single item into each of the dryers, thereby holding them for herself. Grinding my teeth, I went back to the front of the store and finally found a dryer that was both working and empty. In my clothes went and off I went to my apartment to hang my wool socks and dainties on my makeshift clothes rack (also known as hanging them on my dresser drawers).

 

It was on my walk back home that I finally took a breath and started to check in with my emotions and the over-all situation. I was choosing to be irritated. I was choosing to rush and slam my way through something I didn't need to rush through. I had plenty of time, so why was I firing at top speed? As I laid out my socks, I started to realize that everything that had gone "wrong" at the laundromat had instead been a chance to step back and slow down. Each was like the Universe tapping the brakes for me, trying to tell me to check in with my life. If I hadn't been trying to hurry through my laundry, I might have noticed that the lights on the first washer weren't lit. I might have recognized that the first dryer had the same issue. I might have seen the empty dryer at the front of the store and never needed to see all the reserved ones in the back.

 

I was rushing for no reason other than I felt that I should. You're supposed to rush through your chores because they're distasteful and you just have to get them done so that you can go have fun. That's what I'd always thought. But as I took a breath to think about this, I realized that that very act of rushing was part of what made me dislike doing it. I associate doing my laundry as a frenzied task because I always make it a frenzied task. And what about doing laundry was actually bad? What did I actually dislike? There's nothing awful, gross, or painful about putting laundry into a washer and then a dryer. And if I enjoy folding towels at the yoga studio, couldn't I enjoy folding my own clothing? Maybe I could turn around my thinking about doing laundry.

 

So, I set off back to the laundromat, darting down the stairs, new attitude in hand, determination to enjoy it in every stride. But I still hadn't learned the whole lesson. Halfway up the block, I realized I'd left my laundry bag back in my apartment. I couldn't help but laugh. Here was one more way in which I'd still been rushing the situation: this time for joy instead of misery. I thanked the Universe for showing me that I hadn't slowed down. I was still forcing myself on the moment, instead of being in the moment. This last hiccup finally brought that home.

 

As I retrieved my bags and set out for the laundromat for the last time, I intentionally slowed my pace. Letting myself see the street, the people, the cars (no near misses this time!). I'd walked by the same man outside another shop at least 4 times now, but I hadn't actually looked at him. This time, I smiled at him, and he smiled back.

 

Back at the laundromat, I sat down, waiting for my dryer to finish, but not mentally rushing it. Instead, I closed my eyes and just let myself breath, following my breath as my clothes tumbled round and round. When the dryer stopped, I let myself be deliberate as I pulled my clothing out and moved it to a folding table. I felt the warmth of the fabric as I folded each piece. Felt the textures and let my eyes take in the different colors and patterns. I let it be an easy, laid-back experience. And, unsurprisingly, I began to enjoy it.

 

All told, my laundry took me the same amount of time as it usually does when I rush. Slowing my energy hadn't drastically affected the over-all pace, and I wasn't stressed or frenzied. I'd gotten to enjoy the process and be a part of the experience instead of wishing it was an experience I didn't have to go through.

 

Through the rest of the week, I've been trying to keep this lesson alive: realizing when I bullheadedly rush through something, and asking myself if I need to rush. I've also looked at other tasks that I find annoying or arduous and asked myself why I feel that way about them. I'll admit, I'm still procrastinating on scrubbing our shower, but when I do finally get around to it, I'm going to slow down and enjoy the experience, rather than rushing through something that I "have to get done." And who knows, maybe I'll find a new hashtag: #mindfuladulting or #adultingwithjoy

Copyright Kaetlyn Springer 2018

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