Washing My Bowl
For the holidays this year, we drove from Butte to Berkeley to spend Christmas with Megan's extended family. It was great to see people I haven't seen for a few years, and I enjoyed catching up with Megan's uncle Grant, who has been retired for 22 years.
Grant, like me, is keeping busy in retirement. He enjoys his cars and a vacation property and a few other things, whereas in my case it's my dogs and woodworking and a few other things. Different activities, but Grant said something that resonated with me: "I don't know what to say when people ask how I'm spending my time in retirement – I'm busy every day and having a great time, but I struggle to explain exactly what I do all day. I just seem to do whatever comes up."
I feel the same way, and our conversation reminded me of a favorite koan. The Gateless Barrier is a collection of 48 short Zen koans and related commentary compiled around 1200 AD by Chinese Zen master Wumen Huikai, and the 7th koan in the collection goes like this:
A monk told Joshu, “I have just entered the monastery. Please teach me.”
Joshu asked, “Have you eaten your rice porridge?
The monk replied, “I have eaten.”
Joshu said, “Then you had better wash your bowl.”
At that moment the monk was enlightened.
I'm enjoying retirement even more than I expected to, and that koan sums up what I'm enjoying the most: simply focusing each day on washing my rice bowl. I don't actually have a rice bowl, of course. But it seems clear to me that when Joshu says "wash your bowl," he is referring to taking satisfaction from just doing whatever is needed each day, without analysis or judgment or complaint.
For me these days, "washing my bowl" means everything from walking the dogs when they need it, to shoveling the snow when it falls, to repairing something that has fallen into disrepair, vacuuming my workshop, or any of the other activities I fill my days with. I used to see those sorts of activities as annoying distractions or burdens sometimes, back when I was working and feeling constantly pressed for time. But now that those activities are the primary focus of each day, I look forward to them and get satisfaction from them.
"Chop wood, carry water" is a Zen Buddhist phrase that captures the essence of Koan #7 in another way. It's often stated as "Before enlightenment, chop wood, carry water. After enlightenment, chop wood, carry water." The point is that life is made up of small, everyday tasks that can lead to inner peace and personal growth when performed with mindfulness and dedication, so one should focus on the present moment and the tasks at hand, rather than worrying about the future or past. I love this concept. I think my dogs love it, too.
Woodworking is what I've spent the most time on in recent months, but I'm not really trying to accomplish anything in particular with it. When well-intentioned friends ask what my next big project will be, I often politely answer with something Megan and I have discussed, but that feels a little disingenuous, because I don't actually care much what I do next.
And when people suggest ways to make money off woodworking, it can be downright jarring: that concept feels like going back to work, with deliverables and deadlines and customers whose opinions I'd need to please. Why would I want to get mixed up in any of that boring stuff – I'm retired! Erik Curtis, one of the professional woodworkers I follow on YouTube, posted today about how commission work is stressful and draining, so he always lets himself do a project just for fun after each commissioned project. I'm not a pro, so I just do the fun stuff and skip the commission work.
It's not all creative fun and games in the shop, of course. Tools need cleaning and adjustment, the floor needs sweeping, things break and need repair: the tyranny of maintenance is always there. But those activities can be deeply satisfying, too, if you choose to see them that way.
For example, one of my favorite experiences in the shop lately was when my table saw stopped working and I needed to fix it. My table saw is one of the least expensive models on the market: the DeWALT DWE7485, which sells for under $300. In general, I love it and it's all the table saw I need, but it has one design flaw that I definitely don't love.
It has a hardened steel threaded rod for raising and lowering the blade, and those threads go through an aluminum housing. To keep the cost low, they didn't put a hardened steel bushing in the aluminum housing, so the threaded steel rod rubs against the much softer aluminum every time you raise or lower the blade. Over time, the aluminum gets pulverized into fine dust that eventually clogs the threads and prevents them from turning. The only solution is to replace that aluminum housing, which is a complicated and time-consuming job. A replacement housing costs almost half the price of the whole table saw, and even if you replace it, the grinding just starts all over again.
On my table saw, the blade raising mechanism has steadily gotten stiffer for a couple of years, and a couple of months ago it finally got stuck and wouldn't raise at all any more. I assumed I was going to need to replace the housing, so I studied some documentation and watched some videos and then started taking things apart.
After a couple of hours, the parts of my table saw were spread out across my workbench, and I could see the details of the problem. I decided to try cleaning everything out and reassembling it, to see whether I could buy some more time before ordering a new housing. At first the blade adjustment mechanism didn't work at all, because I reassembled some things incorrectly, but I figured out what I got wrong and eventually got it all back together and working like new again.
My first experience as a table saw repairman.
Check it out, Nancy, the blade goes up and down smoothly again!
That little fiasco/triumph is a good example of the kinds of things I'm enjoying about retirement. I get to try new things, and can take the time to really dive into them with as much detail as I'd like.
These sorts of activities fill my days. Every day I get up early with a list of things I'm looking forward to doing, but like Grant I find it hard to answer when people ask "what do you do with your time now that you're not working?" I just do whatever comes up, without over-thinking it. Chop wood, carry water, wash my bowl, rinse and repeat.
We hauled a table home from Megan's mother's home in Berkeley after Christmas, and I spent a few days last week sanding and refinishing it. It's a table that Megan thought would fit well in our kitchen nook, and she was right. This morning, I had my first meal on it. And then I washed my bowl.