How to Make the Mundane Magical
“I can’t do this!”
Near tears, I was deeply perturbed.
I’d been tracing pages upon pages of Zaner-Bloser practice exercises. I couldn’t seem to get the hang of joining letters together.
Every attempt seemed only to complicate the tangle of lines trailing across the page.
I was certain that cursive was dumb, and I didn’t need it.
Not four years later, I was getting compliments nearly every week on my fine penmanship. I carried my family heirloom 1920s Moore fountain pen everywhere.
I vowed to never handwrite printed letters again.
“Ouch!”
I stroked the underside of my chin, feeling the smarting, near-constant annoyance of razor burn. But I was a missionary, and missionaries have to shave every day.
Today, I enjoy shaving. I like using a brush to lather shaving soap and a single-bladed safety razor to swipe away fast-growing whiskers.
I very rarely notice irritation.
Did you practice the trumpet today?” Mom asked, but I think she already knew the answer.
“Yeah, I did.”
The truth was, I did practice, but only for fifteen minutes, and only with the t.v. on to distract me from the boredom of tooting my own horn.
By ninth grade, I loved playing the trumpet.
I got to school early, just to practice. I refused to eat school lunch in the cafeteria.
Instead, I preferred to play etudes in an empty room and then eat an orange on the way to class.
I was progressing quickly. It wasn’t long before I was being asked to play solos in front of the entire band.
Most of my interests began as mere chores.
Chores that I detested.
In each instance, over time, something changed.
As I began to dive headfirst into researching the Civil War, I started to appreciate the Specerian script soldiers and scriveners used to write out letters and correspondence.
Wishing that my writing could be so beautiful someday, I quickly began to consider penmanship a worthy pursuit.
Then, I realized that I needed better tools to match the scripts I so admired. I learned all about fountain pens, ink, and paper. I found what worked for me, and I stuck with my oath to only write in cursive.
As a writer, I’m so glad that I find the physical act of putting pen to paper enjoyable.
It makes me want to write more.
In Kolpino, Russia, I was visiting my Azerbaijani friend at his shop in the corner of a small Soviet-era grocery store when I noticed he sold safety razors.
I’d read that using safety razors can help prevent razor burn. So, I picked out a razor, not knowing what I was looking for.
Another Central Asian man, clean-shaven but with obviously incredible beard potential, wagged his finger at me and pointed at a different safety razor — one with a bright orange handle.
“Pick that one,” he said in his broken Russian. I had no grounds on which to argue.
It took months, but I eventually perfected my wet-shaving technique.
Shaving became a ritual, instead of a drudgery.
When my brother was preparing to leave for college, he told me that I could have his trumpet.
I was excited to not have to use the old, hard-to-play cornet that Grandma Jean found at a yard sale for $20 anymore.
But, there was a catch.
I needed to practice for 150 minutes a week for two months. (At least I think that was what it was.) I needed to keep track of my time on a calendar that he made.
By the time that I’d earned the trumpet, for the first time ever, I actually enjoyed practicing my instrument. I was thrilled to play new pieces, expand my range, and try new techniques.
If you have to do something, why not figure out how to make it enjoyable?
How?
1) Learn the history behind the task.
2) Try to appreciate its beauty.
3) Get better tools — tools that speak to you.
4) Set a goal with a reward you actually want.
5) Practice the humdrum chore until it becomes a habit.
With practice comes progress, and with progress comes a feeling of fulfilment. The job becomes enjoyable. With time, there will be days when it’ll even feel magical.
Sometimes, when I realize that I really hate a thing that I “need” to do, I ask myself, “What do I need to do to make this a cherished ritual?”