"The Power of the Vacuum Cleaner"
I believe in the therapeutic power of the vacuum cleaner. Not in the power of kindness. Not in following one’s bliss. Not in love, or friendship, or faith. But vacuum cleaning.
Let me explain. Growing up, the living room in my parents’ house was covered in thick, dark blue carpet. It lived to lure lint from fresh from the dryer. Pet hair was its siren’s song. A person could vacuum the carpet in the morning, and by noon, it had morphed into an unholy mess.
My parents assigned the care of the blue carpet to me. Everyday when I came home from school, I would release the vacuum and suck up the carpet’s spoils from the previous day. “The carpet looks so nice!” my mother would comment as she walked in from work. “There’s nothing better than clean carpet,” my father would add. I would nod and admire my handwork. The next day, the scene would repeat itself.
Before long, drunk on parental praise and self-satisfaction, I transformed into a vacuuming aficionado. I lived to reclaim the cheerio debris the carpet captured from my kid brother and vanquish the dust bunny hiding in the corner behind my dad’s newspaper table. Being “the Vacuumer” was my role in our family, and I relished in my niche.
When I moved into my college dorm, I brought with me a small Bissell vacuum, made especially for a co-ed vacuuming enthusiast. My roommate’s father whispered “Jackpot!” (unironically) to his daughter as I unpacked it. Just like at my parent’s house, I vacuumed everyday. And though my roommate would commend my art just as my parents had done, another fringe benefit of vacuuming revealed itself. My mind went silent as I worked. I wasn’t worrying about memorizing the Latin names for various trees for Botany or wondering if Jamie, the Daniel Craig look alike in creative writing class, would ever notice me. Vacuuming didn’t just de-litter my carpet, but my mind.
As an adult, I still enjoy a freshly vacuumed carpet, and vacuuming still tidies up my mind. I’ve often wished that life could be as simple as the act. The mess you’ve made, the dirt you’ve tracked in, the cookie you’ve crumbled, can all be righted with a simple sweep of your hand. The satisfying click of the particles hitting the belt resounds in your ear, and POOF! the source of your heartache is gone.
I find comfort in the unorthodox and unsung strengths of the vacuum cleaner. This I believe.
