Treasuring inconvenience

Pondering when we go slow and when we go fast

Sticks from our river birch litter the ground in our yard. They're so wiry that they get lost amid our intentionally tall lawn and the broad leaves of our hostas. Removing bush honeysuckle and common pokeweed from the yard last week, I discovered plenty of branches that I tossed onto my pile for the green waste bins.

A while back, when I was talking with some folks about their yard, they described frustrated they were with the fallen sticks, especially the way the sticks impeded mowing the lawn. Their complaints could be summarized, "Ugh, it's so inconvenient!"

A pursuit of convenience is one reason fruit trees have all but disappeared from mainstream yards. While these trees provide delicious food and, often, beautiful flowers, their dropped fruit is unwelcome in a lawn that must be mowed.

Somewhere on Instagram, there is a video of a person declaring the importance of inconvenience in close friendships. “Inconvenience me!” she declares. “Ask me to drive you to the airport! Let’s go grocery shopping together!” Deep friendship isn’t curated gatherings. It’s connection both in our every day lives and our hearts.

Fascinatingly, sometimes we pursue inconvenience. The You’re Wrong About podcast discussing the novel and movie The Stepford Wives describes how convenience has regularly upped our expectations for household work. When stand mixers became popular, so did angel food cakes. Instead of allowing the mixer to make a standard cake simpler, society valued a machine-aided confection that was just as intense as a hand mixed cake was.

I choose inconvenience. Not to raise my status, but to deepen my connection with the earth and my fellow humans.

I pick up my friend’s kid when she needs it. It helps her, and I get a chance to connect with my little friend. I dig unwanted plants by hand instead of using chemicals—because it creates a healthier world, and because I feel healthier doing it. After a good gardening session, I feel accomplished and tired out and proud.

And yet, I can’t always choose it. We eat take out more often than we’d like, because that’s the best way we can get fed right now. I know someone who’s intentionally forgoing the navigational software on their phone so they can get to know their city better, but I use mine as an accommodation for my dyslexia. Sometimes convenience is what we need.

With birch branches in mind, I’m trying to notice when I choose convenience and when I choose inconvenience. I can value both, and treasure the times when I can choose the slower path.