There Is No Final Wash
A story about cars, crumbs, and becoming
If you’re a father, you know this scene all too well
You pack up the car for a family outing.
You wake up early, organize everything, clean the seats, wipe down the sticky cup holders, load snacks into the back seat, double-check the baby clothes, and prepare, almost as if you’re bracing for a natural disaster.
Because, in some ways, you are.
Fast forward to the return trip:
The car is wrecked. Crumbs in places you didn’t know existed. Fruit snacks mashed into the floor mats. Empty bottles rolling around like tumbleweeds.
And then, like clockwork, the next morning comes.
Your wife and baby are still asleep.
And there you are, back at it again, quietly cleaning up the chaos.
Preparing for the next outing.
The funny thing is… you know this cycle won’t stop. You’ll clean it again. It’ll get messy again. And still, you’ll clean it once more.
But here’s where I started to notice something deeper:
There is philosophy in this.
There is no final wash.
No ultimate version of the clean car.
No perfect version of the self.
We’re always refining.
Always getting a little dirty and trying again.
Always waking up and wiping down the dashboard, literally or metaphorically.
And then, there are the crumbs.
Those tiny annoyances.
The debris of life.
Evidence of what’s been lived, experienced, tasted, and even enjoyed.
We know what our “crumbs” are.
The things that get left behind.
The things we keep sweeping under the rug.
The habits, regrets, sharp words, and small failures.
Making time to notice them, understand them, clean them, not once, but again and again, is what makes for a better life.
Not just for us, but for the people we love and care for.
Because even in the most monotonous chores, the things nobody sees,
nobody praises the things you do out of love; there’s always something to learn.
And if we carry that mindset into the rest of life, everything can seem a little bit more interesting.
With love,
Anand