Does Anyone Care About the Small Stuff?
D oes anyone care about the little everyday
things we do? I have learned that I do. I’d like to know what my grandmother’s
routine was as a child, as a young mother, as an empty nester. I’d like to know
how she made her bread and soap. I’d like to know what her surroundings were
like, and what her opinion was on a myriad of mundane subjects.
“There’s nothing interesting in
my life to write about,” said my sister. “I go to work at my first job, go to
work at my second job, come home exhausted, fix dinner anyway, and go to bed.”
Then she continued to talk about
the appalling politics at work. (Guy One wrote up Guy Two just before quitting
his job—effectively making Guy Two look bad enough to want to leave his job as
well. Someone left a company phone behind full of incriminating information.) She explained some of the fun things her
older son does with his Sunday school class at church. She talked about her
brand new hair style, and why she made such a dramatic change after years of
wearing the same style. On and on she described her life, full of interesting
details.
Those little things combine to
become our days, our years, and our lives; interspersed with the big things
such as births, deaths, marriages, moves, job changes, trips, tragedies,
triumphs, and so on.
Grandpa got dressed up and sat
in a chair most of the day toward the end of his life. As a child I wanted to
know why his legs hurt so bad. I also wanted to know why his hand was missing
two fingers.
My children might wonder why my
dad sits in a chair now too. And why did he go to Saudi Arabia and work for
King Fahad after his retirement?
No life is uninteresting. It takes
a lot of effort to thrive or survive, and the effort takes us through a lot of
high and low experiences.
Take a lesson from Jane Austen who
got a lot of mileage out of writing about the small stuff.