FOR YOUR INCONVENIENCE
With three cats, we do a lot of lint-rolling. Often, it takes each of us several sheets before we can leave the house. Even then, bright sunshine usually reveals still more cat hair. It’s ridiculous, especially in corduroy and sweater season. We can go through a couple of 70-sheet rolls a month.
After a roll is spent, we’d like to replace only the sticky paper and retain the handle for re-use. That seems obvious, right? Throwing away the holder every time seems wrong on a lot of levels. I imagine landfills full of empty lint-rollers, microplastics leaching into our groundwater for generations. Alas, it has proven surprisingly difficult to find replacement rolls in any store that sells lint-brushes. Not at pharmacies nor supermarkets nor pet supply stores. One can only buy the whole device — sticky rolls and roller-handle — altogether anew.
Travis’s frustration with this has been building for years. He dedicated himself to searching for a purveyor from whom he could buy replacement lint-roller rolls. Finally, earlier this year, he found them online somewhere: lint-rolls without rollers. He ordered a case — they were only available by the case — 48 of them, I think. We were set! Though they are surprisingly difficult to change, taking both of us and a pair of needlenose pliers to get a new roll onto the handle, the effort seemed more than worth it.
This week, while vigorously brushing cat hair off my pants, the handle snapped in half. Irreparable. Useless. Fortunately, we always have two rollers in play — one upstairs, one down — so I came downstairs to continue with the other one. It also broke. This was irritating, but I supposed that from time to time we would have to replace the handles, anyway. They’re made of fairly thin, cheap stuff. Last night, we went to the store and bought two more lint rollers, new handles and sticky rolls and all.
Turns out, these roller-handles are a different size. The 40-plus rolls we have in our pantry will not fit them. Every single goddamned roller at Target, a variety of brands, all appeared to be the same size. But none of them will match the spare rolls we have in our closet. Why this is not a standardized thing I cannot fathom. It is maddening.
Our first miserable thought (actually it wasn’t just a thought, it was an out-loud wail, in unison) when we realized our folly, was: WHY SHOULD WE CARE ABOUT ANYTHING?!?! SO MANY OTHERS, GENERATIONS OF OTHERS, HAVE ALREADY GIVEN UP. LET’S JUST GIVE UP, TOO, AND MAYBE LIFE WILL FEEL EASIER FOR A CHANGE!!
It was, perhaps, a slight overreaction, albeit not without cause. I recovered pretty quickly, realizing that we couldn’t let this frustration break us.
We can’t give up or give in — because that’s not who we want to be. We will go the extra mile. We will keep on through thick and thin. Not because this means that things will always go our way or turn out how we want. But because, whatever the circumstances, we will not forfeit our choice to be people who give a shit. I believe that our caring makes a difference — it makes a difference to ourselves, at least, and in most cases it makes some difference for others and for the world. It is empowering to be someone who takes responsibility, willingly. It is a privilege to be able to make an effort beyond what is easy.
We do not have to be swept away by the numbing current of convenience culture.
Don’t get me wrong — I do appreciate plenty of our modern conveniences. Prepackaged entrees. Quick oil-changes that I don’t have to do myself. Streaming entertainment. Zoom meetings. Sliced bread. It’s great.
And — I submit that expecting convenience in every area of life is giving us terribly mixed results, in an experiential sense
Food delivery can be really helpful sometimes, when we need it — AND — restaurants are closing because fewer folks are willing to dine-in. Nothing could be easier than online shopping — AND — consequently, brick and mortar retail is dying, and a lot of neighborhoods are suffering because of it. Social media can offer some degree of connection to those who might otherwise feel very isolated — AND — it’s just not the same thing as being together in person. At the same time that togetherness and communication are more accessible than ever, we have a social crisis of disengagement and loneliness.
Also, I don’t think it’s a stretch to say that our convenience expectations are directly related to our unwillingness or inability to deal with complicated ideas, nuanced arguments, gray areas, and ambiguity. As a society, our critical thinking abilities have withered because we’ve failed to exercise them. We’ve grown so accustomed to everything — from entertainment to politics to spirituality — being delivered with the thoughtless simplicity of a brand or bumper sticker slogan. Better yet, if it can all be delivered to us in the comfort of our living room, we will neither have to think nor to move.
So I’m thinking about reclaiming inconvenience. Not just as a sometimes-necessary bother — it was a pain but ultimately worth it — but rather reclaiming inconvenience as the very point of doing something.
It might soften the idea if we gave it a euphemism, called it “effort,” or “investment,” or “time, energy, attention, care…” But whatever we call it, it’s not about convenience. In fact, it’s often the antithesis of convenience. And I think it’s important to remind ourselves from time to time that inconvenience is not automatically a bad thing. Obstacles aren’t bad. Effort isn’t bad. It all can add value to any number of undertakings. Indeed, the inconvenience, in and of itself, often is deeply valuable.
Making an effort for the sake of the effort. Working through difficulties because that’s how we grow. Not in spite of the inconveniences presented by anything worthwhile, but grateful for the opportunity to meet these inconveniences with ingenuity, creativity, and strength..
Wrestling with unanswerable questions. Making something from scratch. Searching the world over for replacement lint-roller rolls. For me, inconveniences such as these are some of the richest parts of my life. (Well, honestly, not so much the lint-roller thing — that’s Travis’s deal. But the fact that he was willing to put so much heart into this pursuit is a great example of why I love him, and loving him is indeed one of the richest parts of my life, so I can be grateful for that inconvenience, too.)
Having pets is inconvenient. Loving someone can be very inconvenient. Also totally worth it. Putting another first, or compromising with them. Working through differences, even if that’s harder than it might be to go it alone. And again, it’s worth it not in spite of the hassle but because inconvenience calls forth from us something greater. Something far greater than what we’d discover or experience if we always did the easiest, jiffiest, snappiest thing.
I can’t wait to be with you this Sunday, December 8, at 10:00am at q-Staff Theatre. I know it takes something extra to get up early and be together. Thank you for your inconvenience. It matters, we matter. XO, Drew
©2024 Drew Groves
