People like to complain about work, and I can understand why. For many (if not all) of us, it is frustrating since it is often something we find ourselves needing to do rather than wanting to do. Common quips about having a “9-to-5” reflect this attitude: a person is certainly more than what they do! Having said that, work can also be gratifying, even menial labour, which might surprise some people since I am by no means a tradesman of any kind; and this, I think, is because I’m an over-thinker. I study a lot and (obviously) enjoy to think deeply about life. In my academic pursuits, I’ve asked a lot of questions that, if I’m completely honest, I’ll never get a conclusive answer to. My tasks can feel quite endless, with one question begetting another. So it is with us all, in one way or another. If the mysteries of our lives are a well, then it is bottomless, and if you are not careful, you might tumble down as you peer in to see how deep it goes. Thus, when I see a menial task before me, I take some comfort in it, truth be told. It’s not merely that the task before me is achievable. That wouldn’t be worthy of comfort—no, that would just be laziness. Rather, I enjoy seeing the fruits of my labour.

A couple of summers ago, to earn some money, I was helping my father to cut lawns. I’d just graduated from undergrad, and was without any direction in my life. At that time, it felt like every week I had some big idea about what it was that I was going to do with my life. (Two years hence, I can confirm that this is still true.) The pressure of this question I made of myself and my time here felt enormous. It’s safe to say that I didn’t cope with it too well at the time. Regardless, a couple times per week, I would set out with my father, and we would cut lawns in the heat of the Toronto summer—a big difference from my pattern of asking life-altering questions!

It was nice to spend some time with “dad”, and experience what he would do for a living. I was always sort of “cerebral”, so I never really did physical work growing up, and, if I’m honest, it’s not something I would see myself doing for a living every day. If I’m more honest, at one point, I probably would have even thought such work was beneath me rather than simply ill-suited (however unconsciously), and this is not a good way to think. In fact, it’s positively toxic and degrading. The work was not beneath me, nor is it now, and the proof is in that I did do it. It was a lot of the same, however. The work itself didn’t present me with any impossible problems that I had delighted in studying, nor was it something that was hugely life-changing: we were cutting grass, after all, not saving lives nor making innovative changes to the world. And you know what? That’s not a bad thing. In fact, it was quite refreshing.

There’s one memory that sticks out in particular. This one customer’s lawn had grown to maybe four or five inches, and as I started the mower and made my first cut, I pulled back for a second to check that I wasn’t cutting it too short. No, I’d cut it just right. It was a huge improvement to the length it was before; and what’s more is that I could see the contrast between the cuts I made and the grass as it had been at its original length. On the one hand the grass was unkept and prickly—even beginning to lose its natural colour—while on the other it was tidy, deep green, and soft-looking. It was so satisfying that I took a picture and showed it to my father afterwards. By the time I was done, that luscious green grass was practically shining. I took a moment to admire it. It’s not that I’d done something incredible, but I was happy to have done it. Those people, whoever they are, would come home and see their garden looking so beautiful—the kind of beauty that invites you to enjoy a nice summer’s day! My father once told me that whatever you do, you should do it well. That was the work my father and I did that summer, and however small an impact it makes on the world, I’m proud of it.

Moreover, it was a time to think and reflect. There’s a reason why monks often engage in menial tasks. For a while that summer I listened to music, a podcast, or the radio while I worked, but eventually, I got bored of all that. It was far more enjoyable to work in silence and put my mind to the task. Like a zen master, I was single-minded—focused! —and when my mind would wander, I’d just bring it right back to the job at hand. It was peaceful, and I could take some enjoyment in what I had accomplished by the day’s end.

Recently, I was reminded of this experience by a movie that came out called Perfect Days, which is about a man in Tokyo who cleans public toilets for a living. The film might best be described as a “slice of life” in that there is no driving plot, and yet it was so captivating. This man (Hirayama) performs a task that I think none of us would enjoy, but he does it well. He takes pride in his work, and enjoys all the little things he experiences throughout his day: tending to his plants in the morning, his encounters with strangers, his lunch in the park, his routine shower when he’d get home, his dinner in the evening, and so on. Thank God I wasn’t cleaning toilets (haha!), but I suppose my experience was similar in a way: it wasn’t anything big or intellectual or philosophical but it was purposeful and therefore existential. (Also, like Hirayama, we enjoyed more than a few lunches in the park.) So, to echo one of my father’s wisest lessons, I say, whatever you do, do it well. But I will add this: that while not outwardly intellectual, it is very inwardly demanding, and that one might find purpose and meaning even in the very smallest of things.