Ten thousand roles a day

On micro-labeling my actions for present awareness

Aug 21, 2024

On a table under the redwoods in the Berkeley Hills there is a metal placard with an inscription. The sign reads:

Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when published

“In Loving Memory 
Dr. Dorothy Lagaretta
Mother, activist, teacher, author”

Reading this dedication under the cool forest shade, my mind starts to drift to the primordial question without an answer that once again rings in my ears: Who and what am I? And what would be my dedication?

You are what you spend your time doing.

These words – writer, photographer, activist, mother, father, friend – are quick ways to try to summarize our lives. They are big labels – agglomerations of actions and tasks over periods of time that we can point to and give a socially-recognized name. They are useful the same way a country name is useful – “I live in the United States” is descriptively correct but much less informative than the more precise state, city, county, road or house itself.

What big labels obscure is that every moment of our day and life is composed of a series of smaller actions. Unobserved and unnamed, these moments slip by into forgetfulness – clouded by thoughts. But there’s a way of bringing these moments to life: by naming our day we have the power to wake up to these small slivers of time.

Almost every morning I put away my dishes from the night before and cook breakfast. I typically don’t label this. I just do the actions and move on with my day. Recently, however, I’ve started to label everything.

“I am a cook”, I tell myself, and suddenly - as if by magic - I start to pay more attention to cooking! If I’m a cook, I might as well do it right: focus on the plates, the position of the fruit, the size of the bread, the way I make the eggs.

By adding a label to my actions my entire perspective changes.

And then I go even more micro. When I sit down to eat, I’m a sitter. When I drink coffee, I’m a coffee drinker. Eating watermelon? A watermelon eater. Using a knife and fork? I’m a knife and fork cutter.

Micro labels are like zooming in with a camera – my attention becomes pinpoint focused.

One immediate consequence of micro-labeling is I don’t want to multi-task. If I’m a coffee drinker, then listening to music or reading the news while doing this disrupts the task. I become a worse coffee drinker and I’m not respecting that extremely specific craft.

Each micro-label automatically leads to the next. Labeling can continue indefinitely. It becomes a game. Throughout the day I’m a typer, a show watcher, a walker, a driver, a cleaner. At night, a kids’ tooth-brusher, a spooky-story storyteller, a really-fast-shower-giver. And as I go to sleep, I become a dreamer.

I’ve written a few times about other mental shifts that I have found to be particularly helpful in shifting my focus to the present moment. Saying to myself that “this is my favorite thing ever”is one example. Repeating “I know nothing” in conversations is another. Mono no aware (awareness of things) when handling things. Mindful eating when eating.

Micro-labeling roles for my daily actions is yet another tool in my mindfulness toolbox. It’s a good kick-in-the-pants if I find myself drifting into forgetfulness.

On writing this post I realized that this approach is similar to a quote I’ve come back to a few times over the years – Craig Mod’s description of his mindset after doing his 10-day silent meditation Vipassana retreat (emphasis added):

I realized there were about a hundred discreet actions we performed each day. A sampling: Opening the screen door, closing the screen door, pulling back the curtain of the dorm room, folding the futon, walking up the stairs to the meditation hall, putting toothpaste on a toothbrush, brushing your incisors, your molars, rinsing your brush, applying soap to your hands, then your face, swirling your hands around your face, pulling toilet paper from the toilet paper roll, taking a plate from a stack of plates, opening the rice maker, sprinkling sesame seeds on your rice.
I decided to master them all. Every action. Everything a tea ceremony. I pulled toilet paper from the toilet paper roll with total deliberation, total focus, complete reverence, love, presence. Pulled and folded and pulled a little more, folded once again, ripped perfectly on a perforation. We couldn’t speak to one another but I realized I could speak to the others with toilet paper: I would fold the end into a little triangle, a perfect equilateral triangle, that poked out from the top of the holder, making it ever so easier for the next person to take hold. They would feel my love — what was turning more and more into a true love, a full bodied love — through the folded toilet paper, I was certain of this.
My steps were light, lighter than ever, I made no noise as I tread across the floor or up the stairs. A perfect articulation of leg and abdominal muscles absorbing all impact, creating no sound. I quickly mastered the screen door — silent and then silenter still. As for picking up a plate, I was the best, totally aware, totally present, an economy of motion, the lightest of touch. No motherfucker could pick up a plate like I could.

Toilet paper folder.
Walker.
Screen door opener.
Screen door closer.
Plate setter.
Plate picker-upper:

“I was the best, totally aware, totally present, an economy of motion, the lightest of touch. No motherfucker could pick up a plate like I could.”

Micro-labeling my actions has been another coming home.

Sitter.
Breather.
Listener.
Sun-bather.
Observer.

By the end of the day I’ve done ten thousand things. I’ve been ten thousand people. Somewhere inside my body, new sources of patience and mindfulness emerge as I don the role to focus on the action.

No action too tedious.

No moment wasted.

Each day a gift.