I never really liked folding laundry.

Taking in the dry clothes, folding them, putting them away. It's such a simple task, yet after coming home from work, it often feels like a hassle.

A shirt draped over the back of a chair.  
A towel left on the edge of the sofa.  
Socks remaining on the indoor drying rack.

There are so many things in my room that I see but pretend not to.

I used to think that the time spent folding laundry was wasted. I'd play music, watch videos, or listen to someone's radio program, trying to fill that time with something else as much as possible.

My hands would be folding a shirt, but my eyes would be glued to the screen.  
As I stacked towels, my ears would be listening to someone's conversation.

Doing one thing while doing something else.  
I thought I had become good at multitasking.

But one night, I tried folding laundry without anything playing.

There was no particular reason.  
It was just that my smartphone was almost out of battery, and I had left it a little ways away.

The room was quiet.  
The sound of cars driving outside stretched faintly beyond the window.  
The refrigerator hummed lowly, then stopped after a while.  
The shirt I took off the rack carried a faint, dry scent in my arms.

Aligning the edges of a towel.  
Folding the sleeves of a shirt inward.  
Pairing socks one by one.

It's just that, but there are more steps than I thought.  
My fingertips remember more than I expected.

Soft towels want to fluff up and roll.  
Thin shirts feel a bit flimsy until their crease is set.  
Thick socks, one of them is always hard to find.

When I'm in a hurry, it all just becomes a chore.  
But when I'm not in a rush, I notice that each item has a slightly different weight and feel.

As I stack the folded clothes, the small clutter in the room gradually changes its form.

It's not as grand as saying it's tidied up.  
But the back of the chair becomes visible again.  
Space returns to the edge of the sofa.  
The rack lightens.

In sync with that, my mind also becomes a little quieter.

The message I rushed to reply to during the day.  
What I couldn't explain well during the meeting.  
A casual remark someone made.  
What needs to be done by tomorrow.

These things don't completely disappear.  
But as I stack towels one by one, it feels as if they are being placed a little further away.

Perhaps in life, there are times not for solving, but simply for putting things back where they belong.

Folding laundry is not an act of moving something forward.  
Nor does it create anything new.  

Still, when I fold a dry shirt and put it in the drawer, I feel a small sense of relief. A feeling of order.

What I wore today.  
What I used today.  
What touched my body today.

Arranging these things one by one feels like a small ritual to prevent my day from ending abruptly.

During work hours, most things are outward-bound.  
Communicating with someone.  
Replying.  
Deciding.  
Meeting deadlines.

But the time spent folding laundry isn't directed anywhere.  
It's simply putting what's here back here.

That simplicity is a blessing at night.

Not every day can be perfectly ordered.  
There are days when I don't have the energy to put away the folded clothes and fall asleep with them stacked.  
There are days when one sock is missing, and I just think, "Oh well."

And I think that's okay.

What's important isn't achieving perfect tidiness, but rather reconnecting with my own life a little.

Folding a dry shirt.  
Stacking towels.  
Pairing socks.

During that time, I'm neither the person I show to others nor the person who's in a hurry.

My body, which has returned to the room, finally feels like my own.  
I felt like I could close today a little more peacefully.

---

The book selected by the contributor of this daily piece:

Fumiko Koda, "Sounds of the Kitchen"

A book that quietly observes the hands of the person in the kitchen, the sounds of objects, and the atmosphere flowing through the house.

By focusing not on grand events but on the small sensations and sounds within daily life, your perspective on everyday things subtly shifts. This is a book to read slowly on a night when you want to feel the closeness between tidying up your life and finding a little peace of mind.