A Pivot toward Cleaning
My friend was selling his house in Connecticut, and I am a weird person who loves to clean, and I love to help people pack up and move and sort and organize. I also enjoy being a source of motivation, to clean *just one more* closet out when we think we’re done for the day, to get up and start on something (an open invitation for the other to join), all while recognizing there’s a dynamic work/rest balance vital to success. Success in this case is not go-go-go.
There’s so much included in moving – it’s emotional, there are so many old things to go through, decisions to make. Sometimes decisions are about how to pack something best or where to pack it, but sometimes they’re about letting something go. Sometimes “motivating” someone is about giving them the little nudge they need to pause in the packing and really be in their emotions, to experience the grief welling within, to experience it for the sake of experiencing it, likely allowing it to release and make space for what’s next. Many people are uncomfortable with cleaning, sorting, making decisions, packing, and grieving.
I have some capacity at being *with* emotional experiences, at offering a genuine smile of care through a difficult time, at offering a smile of understanding that speaks louder than words for an indescribable experience. Words capture – an experience, an essence, an idea – and grief cannot be captured.
And so I effectively invited myself to do those things for this friend of mine, any or all, depending on what was needed in a moment. He had loads to attend to as the house owner, so I dove in where I could make an impact. Deep cleaning. My eyes notice grime, build-up, residue. What arises in me when I spot grease, hand stains, spill-spots and such isn’t judgment; there are so many reasons why things aren’t kept to a white-glove standard of clean:
it’s time consuming and not really practical; sterile isn’t necessarily “healthy”;
not everyone notices;
it doesn’t bother people (including me!);
it’s not that noticeable;
they’re in hard-to-reach places;
people don’t know *how* to clean, or how best to clean,
and so much more.
What is perceived to be “clean” is such a subjective experience. There’s no one-size-fits-all approach or result.
I’m actually not dirt, grime, or build-up averse, even though my eyes spot it. While judgment doesn’t arise, care does. An urge to care wells within me, and sometimes it results in me cleaning, and sometimes I just sit with it and let it be there or drift off. It doesn’t bother me at all, this urge. Sometimes there’s a flavor of wanting to clean for the person (they’re a close friend, they’re elderly, they have mobility issues…), sometimes it’s wanting to care for a space. There are different kinds of caring. Lack of cleaning doesn’t mean neglect or lack of care.
I actually don’t love the word or implication of the word “clean” – there’s an included implication of “dirty” and that’s not really how I think about things. What does feel right for me is caring for a space by removing build-up.
We left for his folks’ house during the showings, basically cleaning the floor on our way out of the house, right up to the front door, and it was beautiful and gleaming – walls, banisters, stairs, baseboards, cabinets, drawers... And I felt such a feeling of success and joy and meaning and, I don't know, a deep love of the Good, True, and Beautiful. He had put so much heart and attention into the space, he’d made it beautiful, put so much of himself into this home. And like I said, I actually don't mind grime, I don't mind dirt. And, understandably, there was a fair amount of accumulation in this enormous, five bedroom, three bathroom home.
It felt like such a meaningful contribution to be able to clean his house in a way that allowed it to speak for itself in its beauty, in its loveliness, in its homeliness, so that the building itself, the walls, the flooring types, the trim and wall colors, the care and attention of everything that he had put into it, that *that's* what could shine. That's what could sing to somebody who might want to live there and make it their home. And so I just felt *good* about it. He made it beautiful; all I did was remove the accumulation of evidence of living there that might draw the eye away from that beauty.
And while I was there, I got to remember how good all this felt – to clean a house, to care for people and spaces in the details. And since that trip, I’ve had some insights and realizations – it’s not just “cleaning.” It feels more like relating. It's relating with a home (or space) in a caring way.
