THE LAUNDRY LISTENER

I’m halfway through Glennon Doyle’s Untamed, and by half way I mean I’m an hour in on audible, and an hour as we know it now in “pandemic” terms could mean “forever” or “Tuesday” and no one really would know the difference. Anyway, I’m listening to this book, something I’ve never done ever, because these days I need to have my eyes free for important things like simultaneously watching women I don’t know get facials and fillers on Instagram, or checking the vaccination websites obsessively to see if I should make/cancel/make/cancel appointments even though its not/ but kind of is/ but not/ it should be though my turn. Also, I have to listen because sitting down to read a book in the middle of a pandemic when you have a teenager that is learning from home, a husband working from home, and 16 loads of laundry and dishes, seems very very decadent. And usually at this point, when I’m in my world of Glennon and on the brink of adding some serum, diet powder, or a cardigan to my cart that I will ultimately cancel or return (see vaccination appointment ritual above), it usually means I’ve gotten in a quick ride on the Peloton, showered and applied the 3 different ointments to my psoriasis (a new gift from the pandemic, or maybe Judaism) and have about an hour left to feed said teen/man, finish said dishes and laundry, and turn around to pick up the two small children from preschool. I have truly mastered the art of multitasking. I feel happy. Should I feel happy for not wanting to actually be doing anything else but all the things I’m doing right now? At once.

Wait, what is this blog post about?

Oh, listening to a book. Right.

So I’m an hour in to halfway through Glennon Doyle’s Untamed, and I already feel rocked. Like where has this book been my whole life, and by whole life I mean, during 2020 coronavirus pandemic give me the fucking vaccine I’m so sick of talking about vaccines already shit show of a year. I’m only a few amazing stories and anecdotes in and already I know she’s about to tell me something not only that was I ready and needing to hear, but that will change my life and make me get a new tattoo. Okay, maybe that’s jumping the gun but goddamn, I am hanging on to every word… and also wildly intrigued with this influencer showing me her “haul” of the 90’s mom “wedgie” jean look, a trend that the skinny jean hating Gen Z tells us we have to wear, which now leads me down a rabbit hole I go down often these days: How would this look on me?

I must do further investigation.

I grab a stronger pair of my readers. Alrighty, let’s dive in and dissect a complete stranger’s body as it compares to mine ON SOCIAL MEDIA. I remind myself as I often do that thinness, particularly, a stranger’s thinness, doesn’t equate happiness… Oh, who am I kidding. Thinness is a gift and is what I’m striving for. It’s what’s missing from this mostly perfect life of mine. Let’s continue to look outward, I think, as I swipe, zoom in, and analyze this woman’s life I’m seeing through filtered photos ALL IN THE NAME OF GODDAMN 90’s JEANS just as Glennon says:

“You are not a mess. You are a feeling person in a messy world.”

Excuse me, what? Did she just give me permission to feel everything at once?

“You are are not a mess,” I tell/ask myself as I my eyes finally focus on what it is I’m doing while I’m listening to this gold: Jenny, you are single white female-ing looking at a woman on instagram who you don’t know, has lived through zero days in your body, has not experienced any of the moments that have made you YOU, or birthed out three very different boys in three very different ways and from two different dads, if I may add. What does her body have to do with yours and how can you feel happy in life if you’re not happy in your own skin?

Wait. STOP. I need to hear what Glennon said again. No one has told me this. No one has told me it’s okay to feel what I feel exactly as I feel now.

Wait, how do I feel?

I close out from my app and hit rewind on audible and to listen again. This time, my eyes are on the pile of laundry I started to fold next to the peloton I’m supposed to ride.

“You are not a mess. You are a feeling person in a messy world.”

You are where you need to be. That’s the first thing that comes to my mind.

Believe it or not, you like it here.

It’s okay to like it HERE. But it’s time to like the person that’s here.

IS THIS WHAT FEELING PRESENT FEELS LIKE????

This feeling is so new. Like I don’t need to be anywhere else. Like there’s nothing wrong with the fact that I’m actually dare I say it: Happy to be doing laundry and listening to Glennon Doyle and squeezing in a workout and dishes and turning around to pick up my toddlers. Like what if, dare I say it, I’m GOOD with this. Like what if, dare I say it, I’m not wishing I was somewhere else. What if, dare I say it, folding laundry, doing dishes, sweeping floors, shuttling to and from preschool, making lunches for the troops at home- what if this feels completely and utterly great and I’m completely and utterly grateful for the opportunity to do shit that feels completely and utterly meaningless and MEANINGFUL all at once.

AND WHAT IS THIS FUCKING BLOG POST ABOUT??!?!?