‘So’, asked a friend, ‘now that you’ve finished your project on domestic life, what have you found out about it?’
‘Well’, I said, ‘It doesn’t fit on the back of an envelope. But I’m getting closer. When I started thinking about domestic life, five years ago now, it was because I was in two minds about whether the time I spent looking after myself and my family was time well spent, or time wasted. I couldn’t work out if the benefits of a well-run home outweighed the effort of keeping it that way. And it was this uncertainty, this doubt, that drove me to asking other people how they felt about their housekeeping story’
‘What do you mean by their housekeeping story?’ asked Tina.
‘Oh’, I said, ‘that’s shorthand for everything we do to keep our home life ticking over so that we can thrive in the world. It’s everything from washing bedlinen to food shopping to celebrating a family birthday. It’s the big and little things we do to show ourselves, and the people we’re close to, that we’re worth looking after, that we belong on this patch of earth and are loved no matter what. This sounds completely obvious. Of course we’re worth looking after. But what I’ve discovered is that, in our unconscious, there’s a bit of confusion around this. It’s not that we secretly think we’re bad, and so undeserving of being well looked after. It’s more that even when we’re doing pretty well, day to day, our experience of life is of constant, just-beneath-the-surface struggle. And this is why we thrive on being given plenty of signs that we’re loved and wanted. We show this in the simplest of ways, by spicing up a pumpkin soup, or icing a cake for a friend. In our distracted and overfilled world, love is something that we do, and make time for, as much as something that we feel’.
‘And what else have you found out?’
‘I used to think that it was just me that got easily stressed at home. Other people, I thought, didn’t need to feel on top of their home life in order to feel good about opening their front door late afternoon. I was the only one who felt overwhelmed when I had no idea what to cook for dinner and hungry faces kept appearing at the kitchen door. Whereas, I now know lots of people feel this. We like to have some control over the day-to-day running of our homes. Given how much of our life is outside our control, we like to keep a hold over the bits that we can.
In the old days, housekeeping was about meeting social expectations, maintaining hygiene standards and observing nutritional guidelines. It was about satisfying the needs of a household’s inhabitants and keeping dust and roaches at bay. Housekeeping still involves these things. But nowadays it’s expanded to include our well-being. We’re less concerned about rodents in the flour sack, than in achieving peace of mind in the hour before sleep.
‘Why do you think people find domestic life stressful these days?’ asked Tina.
‘Hmmm’, I replied. ‘Five years ago I thought it was just me who avoided spending long periods at home, for fear of the demands that my home made on me when I did. But as it turns out, lots of us feel this. I think this is because until we sort out our housekeeping story – until we reconcile ourselves with how much of our life is given over to looking after ourselves – we’re likely to feel stressed at home. Everyone multitasks, of course. And everyone refuses to accept that household tasks take 50% more time than we think they will. And then there’s the puppy problem.’
‘What’s that?’ asked Tina.
‘We all loves puppies’, I said. ‘Yet every adult knows that giving in to the desire for a puppy puts in train a string of demands that the child in us shrinks from. And it’s the same with everything that comes through our front door, from a must-have household gadget to a new baby. We want to have it. Reality conspires and gives it to us. And before we know it, hey presto, we’re responsible for looking after it. This is the puppy problem. It explains why minimalism, living clutter free and not having children are all so appealing. Because choosing to live with less means there are fewer people and things in our life to demand our attention and make us do their bidding.
‘Yeah’, said Tina, ‘I get that. But I still don’t quite get the housekeeping story’.
‘Sure’, I said. ‘It took me ages to wrap my head around the idea that our thoughts shape our feelings – that thinking makes it so. It seems counter-intuitive that we create our world twice, first in thought and then in reality. But now I think that this is at the core of every housekeeping story. If we choose to act in a nurturing way, it’s because, given our understanding of the struggles of life, value looking after ourselves and others in loving ways. Believing in practical loving, nurture and creativity leads us to create a home life based on these values’.
‘Okay’, said my friend. ‘But are you at risk of being taken for granted by people close to you, if you look after them lovingly and they don’t reciprocate?’
‘I don’t think this is something that you can be right or wrong about’, I replied. ‘It’s like proving pacifism or vegetarianism. It’s stems from personal belief, not facts. It’s a decision that you arrive at from within, not without. Whether acting in a loving way adds or subtracts from your life can only be answered from within. For me, it’s worth the risk. Because even if I get taken advantage of – which is anyway a matter of interpretation – my life is richer for living it in line with a belief in practical loving.’
‘Oh’, said Tina. ‘I think I see’.
‘There’s one last bit to the housekeeping story. Which is that before we can tell it, before it can hang together as a story, we have to know who we’re housekeeping for. Am I looking after myself and others to please a Big Other – a partner, social convention or some nameless fear of sliding into chaos? Or am I looking after myself and others, as well as I can, in order to uphold a personal ideal, never quite attained, of a life that I feel good about living? When we’re housekeeping for ourselves, our acts of loving spring from a desire to live our best possible life. We’re inspired not by fear of a disapproving other, but by a desire for something closer to Keats’ ‘beauty, goodness and truth’. For me, today, there’s no question that the benefits of living in a well-run home outweigh the effort of keeping it that way. Having spoken to scores of people on this subject – and interviewed 50 – I know that many others think this too’.
‘Thanks’, said Tina. ‘Now I get it.’