This story originally appeared on the Gents Cafe Newsletter. You can subscribe here.
Several things happened to me recently. At first glance, they seemed unrelated.
I read ‘Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance’ by Robert M. Pirsig. It got me thinking about the quality of things that makes those we carefully choose for ourselves better than others. Or rather, about ‘Quality’, since it is up to us to notice it, cherish it, and cultivate it within ourselves.
Then I went to Japan House in London. There I learned that the Japanese word for ‘thing’ is ‘mono’, but unlike its English equivalent, it encompasses not only objects, but also human emotions, relationships, time, and memory. The Japanese believe that each thing embodies the emotions, skill, and wisdom of its maker. That the way we interact with it shapes our experience of the world. It places us in a constant dialogue with it, and with each other.
But it all began to make sense to me only when the most trivial thing happened. I noticed that my trusty Sanders suede hi-top boots were starting to give way to time, and a good friend suggested that I contact the company and ask them to recommend the best course of repair and maintenance.
My initial reaction was to dismiss it and buy a new pair. I was not good at maintaining things, truth be told, and now I think that this was not just a lack of habit, but a lack of mindfulness.
Then something shifted. Memories of good books and Japanese words stirred in me, and I followed my friend’s advice.
After the initial conversation and inspection, and after a genuinely lovely interaction with people proud of their craft, I got my shoes back in stellar condition for a mere fraction of what a new pair would have cost.
It felt curiously reassuring, as though I were finally putting things in order. I was seized by the desire to deepen this feeling, and, to my shame there was much to do: repairing my old raincoat; hand-washing my car after a muddy British winter and fixing a well-designed minimalistic phone holder in it; finishing books I had started but been too inattentive to follow through the end.
Methodically crossing these chores off my list felt like regaining control over my life. I became proud again of possessions I had once cherished, rediscovering their soul — the way good craftsmanship shapes the rhythm of one’s life.
A simple yet powerful truth: maintaining things is a way of becoming mindful.
If, like me, you still treat your life as a project, start by making a list of the things that require your attention. Care for them, fix them, improve them. Cross the items off one by one. Gradually, understanding will come: your life is not a project. It is a Path, and you are more than capable of shaping it with your own hands.
