Getting up and puttering around. That’s what a day should be like.
There are days when you’re kind of concentrating from the moment you get up. And you were probably thinking about it in your sleep. Just before waking. The day was kind of ricocheting around your noggin while you slept.
That’s what days are for most people, most of the time. We’re lucky enough to live in a world where you don’t get beat up every day, or bombed, or where you are crawling around the street, looking for food, or water. You make a living. And most days you have all the water you can drink.
It makes you think. It makes you happy. You like that place of competence where you know you’re productive, that you make a difference. And you don’t often think about how you got there. Whether you had white privilege. When you look back on it, you wonder if you had any privilege at all. What you see is a path you carved yourself, a path no one gave you and more than a few might have moved to take away, or alter to your disadvantage. And lots more who altered it to your mutual advantage, who were glad you were there to make it, who helped you make it. Many more people helped than actively hurt.
And while you sometimes wonder how much privilege you had, you seldom even think of privilege at all. But you might think that’s because you have the advantage of having it without even knowing it.
If you can’t know it, it’s hard to tell what effect it really had. And if you can’t know it, it’s easy to think it doesn’t exist. And it’s easy to think that it wouldn’t and shouldn’t matter to anybody whether they think it exists or not.
But the best day should just be about puttering. It alarms the pets when you take an active interest in housework, straightening things up a little, cleaning stubborn spots, overlooking most of the chaos that life and time make on the things you surround yourself with, doing just the little things that need to be done every few days or so.
Yes, you have clean water. Yes, you don’t live in a war zone. Yes, you wish no one lived in the war zone of poverty and the literal war zones of manmade madness. But you’re one of the lucky ones, however you got here. Now just putter. And do what you can, when you can, so that all people everywhere can putter now and then, and clean those stubborn spots of what a peaceful life ought to be.
And I don’t mean putter like in golf. I hate golf. You might have a horn collection, or crystals and rocks, or some Lalique or Baccarat figurines. Sports memorabilia. Books. A nice view on the patio. A workbench with something in the vice. An old couch in a tiny apartment. Old favorite movies on demand. Doesn’t matter. Grab a coffee. Putter around.
Thank you, God.