Whatever is bothering you, the solution is in your laundry.

Resolve is in detergent. Rectification in dryer lint.

If the devil finds work for idle hands, let clothing busy your fingers. Let repetitive, mindless tasks carry you into mindfulness. Mindfulness thrives in the seemingly mindless.

Laundry feels good. Carrying a heavy bag. Separating fibers tolerant to high heat from those that require a more delicate treatment. Watching the machine do its work. Foaming. Swishing and swashing. Agitating. Random and chaotic, but harmonized in its goal. Soaking, rinsing, then spinning. Rotating at a speed that makes each color indistinguishable from its company. Making then breaking a bond between water and cotton, polyester, linen, wool. A collective blob of reds, greens, blues, yellows, right before a click or a buzz or a ding.

The dryer works at a more lethargic pace, noted in its sound. Not a wirrhh but a whomm. Not offering quite enough centrifugal force to prevent clothes from falling at the drum’s peak. Letting off just a bit of radiant heat through its thick glass. This machine feels friendlier than the washer. Acting at a slower pace. Allowing you to open its door at any time. It’s more accessible.

Folding is where it really happens, though. Ordering, pairing, organizing, stacking. Not like folding sweatshirts at that old retail job. That was work; this is progress.

Motions become mechanical, requiring little thought. Attention shifts internally, freed now from clutter. Thoughts and clothes collect in sync. Some order — temporary as it may be — is found.

It’s important to do stuff with your hands. It’s important to see a physical product of your labor. It does your head good. And if you don’t take time to fold your clothes, they’ll be wrinkled when you wear them.

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