Doing the next thing right

There are no awards or accolades for caring for children, but there’s nothing more important. (Journeys through Bookland, Sylvester, 1922)

My uncle, whom I quote all the time on this blog, has a saying that he shares with those who are uncertain about the future.

He says, “Do the next right thing. And when you don’t know the next right thing, do the next thing right.”

This solves a lot of problems. There are so many times that I’ve been unsettled and listless only to realize that I was making life way more complicated than it needed to be. All I needed to do was drive safely to my destination, slice this tomato evenly, or fold this towel.

These mundane tasks tend to surface once I stop believing that I have some lofty and meaningful problem. Happily, completing each one offers a little peace of mind and makes the next step more obvious — even if that next step is another boring, everyday “take out the trash” type of task.

I always thought that these life management routines took me away from the important work I was supposed to be doing. And sometimes they do, if I’m hiding behind them to avoid making scary, life-defining decisions.

However, even if I’m trying to solve big problems or make great art, it’s nice to have a drawer full of neatly organized, clean socks and a well-stocked fridge. The freewheeling bohemian lifestyle in which laundry and groceries are put aside for the magic of creation — that has worked for me sometimes. But eventually, I run out of inspiration and need to do a resupply mission.

The thing I need to resupply isn’t the creative inspiration, though — it’s the basics. The clothes and food and paper towels. These are the things that will help me to be ready for the next time the muse happens by. These provisions are the fuel that will power the work.

I used to get frustrated by this cycle. I feared the intervals in which I lacked the clarity to know what was coming next and did everything I could to fight my way forward.

But I’ve learned that I can’t just go, go, go. A period of intense production is, inevitably, followed by a period of plowing over the fields to let them lie fallow until the next season.

I still enjoy the feeling of being focused and driven and shutting out everything else because I am so incredibly clear on what I’m doing and how. Lately, I’ve become less resistant to the times when this feeing is suspended. I’ve awoken to the value of the recovery phase — a time for housekeeping, planning, and preparation. It turns out that these experiences can be just as satisfying and spiritual as the ecstasy of creative flow.

It was my father who taught me, methodically and almost reverently, how to clean a toilet until it was so spotless “you could eat off it.” I chafed at these quotidian obligations for so long, but it didn’t make me a better musician, entrepreneur, teacher, friend, or family member.

I’m not saying that accepting and doing my daily chores did make me better at carrying out the key roles in my life, but it didn’t hurt, either. In the end, I don’t feel as though I’ve lost time as a result of taking household responsibilities seriously. Instead, I’ve gained clarity and calm, over and over.

There have been times in my life when I chose to volunteer for a cause or help a friend or family member in spite of the fear that I wouldn’t have enough time. In virtually every case, my reward was a breakthrough in some area. Instead of trying to push ahead when I didn’t know where I was going, I settled in and made the best of where I was.

In the long run, doing the next thing right pays off — but more importantly, it allows me to become present and focused, going from misery to contentment. Cleaning a toilet may not be as impressive as writing a book or finally figuring out the solution to a big problem, but it’s what I can do today. I’ll call that a win.