I've said it many times: "I hate errands." The idea of spending a day checking off a domestic to-do list drives me batty. But recently I've noticed something. Maybe it's the fact that I've recently left my job and don't feel so squeezed for time, but the degree of satisfaction I get from completing some most hated tasks has been almost euphoric: like, signing up for Cobra. CHECK! Rolling over my 401k. CHECK! Filling my tank up with gas--oh how I put off this chore. Returning a skirt to Anthropology. DONE! Small, pedestrian, almost unworthy-of-mentioning items (aka BORING). But once completed, I have this feeling of accomplishment that turns me shiny and gleeful and purring like a kitty kneeding a fluffy blanket in the sun.
What really makes me aware of this, is when I compare the rush of returning a library book to a completing a bigger meatier--more MEANINGFUL task--like writing an essay I've spent six months on. When the essay is considered done, there's a tremor of . . . relief, and a brief sigh of satisfaction, a pat or two on the back. But of course, then it's on to submitting and the next piece and in some ways writing is a knitting project that's never done.
I think what might feel good is having the time to tend to those errands that make up a life, and to do them unhurriedly and with a tremor of appreciation. As always, it's the little things.