Milena Moser: Unfinished business remains

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Many years ago, a friend told me that not only does she clean her entire apartment before she goes on vacation, but she also takes every book off the shelf to dust off. She couldn’t exactly explain why. It was related to what others might think. Others, who, in the worst case, could enter their apartment and look behind the books in their absence.

Looking for books? When I think of something like this, I tend to think of secret messages and hidden treasures rather than dust shame, but this kind of behavior isn’t entirely alien to me. It’s hard for me to imagine that a young woman, whom I don’t even know very well, has to live for a week with the smell of paint, with a bunch of plates on the dinner table, with rubbish lying everywhere.

And on the day of our departure, I really get up at five o’clock to clear the table. But before the first box is full, I’ll stop. What’s the point now? Do I really care what this young woman might think of us? No. It’s more of a crunchy childhood memory, a lesson learned long ago: no dessert until you’ve eaten your plate. You can’t go outside to play until you’ve washed the dishes, cleaned your room, and done your homework. The idea that you have to do your duty before you can do something as frivolous as entertainment is deeply ingrained, and not only with me.

I don’t see much difference between Swiss friends and Californians. Some may be more focused on housework and others more on errands, but the engine that drives us all is the same: the futile hope that one day everything will be done and ticked, done and done. And then we were finally able to lean back. Of course, that moment never comes, even after we vacuum every book on the shelf. Life never stands still. This is never done.

“Recently, a tax advisor gave me a scare,” says a friend. I shudder involuntarily because this happens to me every year too. But in her case, it was exactly the opposite: the tax consultant could no longer tolerate her stubborn frugality. She survived a difficult divorce, single-handedly sent her son to college and paid off her debts, which is a huge achievement for America. Now she is saving for a pension, which in America is also not provided automatically, or not provided at all. So she saves with a determination that I often admire. The tax advisor, on the other hand, finds this to be an exaggeration.

When do you want to start enjoying life? he asked her irritably. – When will you die?

It made me think not only my girlfriend, but also me. When is enough?

“What time is my turn?” she asked, and all I could do was shrug helplessly. Never. Or always. Or now. “And who decides this? Yes, yes, I know, myself…”

I unpack the half-empty box of dishes and put a note on the table. Forget about automatic apologies and instead write: Temporary installation. Do not touch. collapse risk.

Then we’ll go.

Source: Blick