Infusing Magic in the Mundane: A Guide to Meaningful Mindful Living
The routine isn’t getting in the way of life; it is life.
I’ve always found life’s routines frustrating. I’ve come to suspect that I have and have always had ADHD, and I wonder how much of the frustration is rooted in overwhelm and executive dysfunction. It’s only been in the last few weeks that I’ve been able to infuse a little magic into the mundane.
If I’m honest, I’ve never been great at managing the work of adulthood. Motherhood came naturally to me, but housework and lawn maintenance seemed like an uphill battle I could never quite win. For a few months of the year, I had a houseguest, and in that time, I discovered my ADHD tendencies and also learned better ways to manage them. What if it didn’t all feel like a battle in a war I was waging? What if it could feel like nurturing instead?
Of course, having help was a huge part of the solution. Life is easier to manage when we have someone else lending a hand. Yet, I also figured out ways to take work and add mindful intention to it.
It started with my lawn. I have a little battery-operated lawn mower that I purchased out of a desire to be more eco-conscious and that my father regularly disparages as substandard lawn equipment. To be fair, I do have to mow in short bursts with time for the battery to charge in between, but I love the lightness and ease of my little push mower. Instead of dreading every single second of cutting the grass, I found joy in it. I put on a playlist, and I used that time to soak up the sun and fresh air and to put my little home garden in order.
On a day when I was managing big emotions, I found myself pulling up weeds by hand rather than using the weed eater. There was something therapeutic about it. It wasn’t quite the same grounded feeling I have from playing with my hands in the dirt of my garden, but it felt good to see a problem and do something practical about it. I didn’t resent the process. I just became present for it.
The indoor work was the one I dreaded the most. I would find myself buried in laundry and down to the last clean dish in my pantry. Over and over again, I found that the work piled up before I could even begin to approach it. But over the last few months, I have taken an intentional approach to every space in my home. Ignored closets gained my full and undivided attention. Cluttered cabinets became clean and organized spaces.
I would walk into a room of my house and ask how it felt and how I wanted it to feel. I don’t have a large house, so this wasn’t an arduous task. I began to imagine possibilities. I needed to clean and organize, but I wanted to simultaneously create welcoming, beautiful spaces. A small storage closet was cleaned out and transformed into an open bookshelf. The cluttered front closet became an organized storage closet for cleaning supplies and paper products. Old doors became shelves in my walk-in closet, and linens not in use nestled into neat containers.
It wasn’t always easy. I think I did more crying in my closet than in any room of my house as I sat among the clutter and wondered how I was supposed to find any method in the madness of my mess, much less magic. But slowly, the closet became a space that was as orderly and pleasant as the rest. I may never enjoy the daily routine of cleaning up, particularly after children who leave messes wherever they go, but I do enjoy seeing order brought to places where there was none before.
When I bought my home, I had big dreams to put in it. I was going to intentionally curate my life — and I have. It hasn’t happened all at once, but I’m growing into the process. Every day, I light scented candles I once saved for unspecified special occasions. I turn on a favorite playlist to tidy up. I take care of routine tasks in the same way that I baby my garden — with loving intention. It doesn’t mean I smile when I do the dishes or scoop out the kitty litter, but it does mean that I see how the small parts add up to a beautiful whole.
Curating my life has also involved copious amounts of self-compassion. I have a chronic illness, and while it’s mostly managed by medication, I know that some days will involve fatigue, body aches, and brain fog. On those days, I am careful to do what I can and to be kind to myself about what I can’t. It’s a practice with the goal of progress and not perfection. I know there will be days when my order becomes disorder, but I also know that other days will follow where I can mindfully attend to those tasks again.
The mundane parts of life are like meditation. Our thoughts drift and wander, but it’s a part of the process. We return, again and again, to the focal point, our center, or our breath. We observe the mess of our minds without judgment, bringing curiosity, kindness, and compassion to the process. Our minds aren’t any emptier than our homes, but we intentionally provide our presence.
I bought a house, but I made it a home. I’m learning that rituals can be a soothing part of the process. I make my coffee to the background sounds of my children getting ready for school. When they are safely on board the bus, I can return to my coffee and my work. A candle glows on the counter, and the fragrance today is a fall favorite. My dog is sleeping at my feet, and my kittens are watching the hummingbirds at the window. The dishwasher is loaded and ready for its next cycle. The table is clean. The closet is organized.
There is still much to be done. I can think of small things I want to do in each space of my home. There are bulbs I want to plant in my garden, and I noticed that they need weeding again when I was out watering my plants last night. The routine isn’t getting in the way of life; it is life. I don’t want to spend any more time wishing it away. Instead, I make the time matter.
Life’s routines aren’t going anywhere. I don’t have to look forward to them. But with a little mindful intention, I can make the mundane just a little more meaningful.