The other morning, I opened the dishwasher expecting gleaming, sparkling plates that would restore order to my kitchen. Instead, I found… yesterday’s dirty dishes, sitting exactly as I had loaded them. I had gone through all the trouble of scraping, rinsing, stacking, arranging—but had somehow forgotten to press the one button that makes the whole thing work: start.
And I thought, “Well, there it is. My entire life in a single appliance.”
All the prep. None of the action.
Because I am great at setting things up. I make lists, buy the supplies, line up the ingredients. I am practically a champion of “almost beginning.” But the actual beginning—the pressing of the button—that’s where I falter.
I realized then that I live most of my life in the land of almost beginning. It’s a strangely exhausting place: lists made, groceries bought, boots set by the door for a hike I never take. My brain convinces me I’ve done enough to earn the satisfaction of progress, when really, nothing has moved forward.
The leap from almost beginning to actual beginning is a crevasse. A gap between thinking about doing the thing and actually doing the thing. Between loading the dishwasher and pressing start. Between rolling out the yoga mat and stepping onto it.
And the crevasse always looks bigger than it is. My brain says, “This is too much! Too complicated! Better to scroll Instagram instead.” But the truth is, most beginnings require only a fingertip of effort. One breath. One small action. The button.
Yoga teaches us that intention isn’t about Herculean effort. It’s about placing your mind, gently but firmly, in one direction. One step. The practice is less about climbing the mountain and more about putting your foot on the trail.
And once I do that—once I cross the crevasse—I feel a flood of relief. No more debating or circling or bargaining. The decision is made, and the work is underway.
When the cycle ended, I opened the door. The dishes weren’t as sparkling as they usually are after a cycle, but they were clean enough. Which felt like another small teaching: things don’t have to be perfect to be finished.
Now, whenever I feel overwhelmed by too many projects and too much life, I whisper to myself: “Press the button.” Take the one small action. Begin. Because action, however ordinary, is the doorway to peace.
And if you’re wondering—the reason the dishes weren’t as sparkling as usual, was because I’d forgotten the soap pod.
Progress, not perfection.
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Thanks for reading The Mindful Dishwasher. I write these little essays as a way of noticing the small, ordinary corners of life where yoga sneaks in. If this piece made you smile, nod, or press a button you’ve been avoiding, I’d love to hear about it. Drop a comment below or share it with a friend who might need a nudge.
Until next time — here’s to beginnings, however small.
Namaste,
Kath
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