Real Change Is Incremental. Louis Shalako.

Louis Shalako

Real Change is Incremental.

 

If you moved to France, or Alaska, or Timbuktu, that is one big change, all at once. And yet, you would still be the same person, you’re just in a different location. You would adapt, but then you wouldn’t have much choice. Some of those changes might not be all that welcome, and learning a whole new language and culture would be a big challenge.

What if you stayed in the same old place? What if you stayed in the same old place, and what if that was kind of bugging you, and you acknowledged that you needed to make some changes? Perhaps even some big changes.

All real change is incremental. It takes a lot of small changes, very small in fact, over time, and sometimes it takes a very long time, before any real results can be seen.

In a previous story, On Frugality and Poverty Thinking, I talked about how I wanted to paint my apartment, which was getting pretty grubby after nine years of occupancy.

The trouble, of course, is that it’s a good idea to talk to the landlord. They might even say no. It takes fifteen hundred dollars’ worth of tools and materials, all of which have to come up three flights of stairs, all of which takes thirty or forty hours of labour…to slap a coat of paint on heavily-stained walls and to see it all come bleeding back through in a very short time.

And it’s a big change.

It all started off innocently enough. I took some spray cleaner, and did the experiment. I took a sponge, and some paper towels and I just tried to see if I could get some of that goop off of one small section of wall. The concern there, was what if it’s not working and you have to quit, and there would still be those swish marks on the wall where you have just moved it around a bit.

Yeah, but I already had that—I could hardly have made it any worse.

I could hardly make it any worse...

Quite frankly, I have tried to clean here and there a few times, and it seemed as if I was just pushing the grease around, although at least something might have come off. Yet it seemed to work fairly well this time around. It took about four (rather large) bottles of spray cleaner, and about four or five rolls of paper towels and a bit of Comet Cleanser, and a cheap sponge or two.

I did the whole job for less than forty bucks…all it took was time.

And effort, and I never missed a day, an hour and a half to two hours a day.

That, is really all it took.

And now, there is no longer any need to paint my apartment.

And I probably won’t wait nine years to do it again, either. And if I did paint, there’s a lot less crap to bleed through that fresh, new paint, right? It’s not going to need five coats of Killz or Zinsser stain-busting primer first.

Now that I know how freaking easy it is—

***

I did a half-hour of work the first day, and then I had to sit there at my writing desk for the rest of the day, with my eyes straying back to that one clean patch from time to time. The next day, I did maybe an hour and a half—and it was like my arm hurt a bit, like it was going to fall off or something, and yet I could see progress.

My arms never did fall off, and that’s a good thing because I still need them.

It took three sessions to do just one short wall across the front of the apartment, one with a window and a patio door. The square footage is not that great.

Looking around, it’s a pretty big job, so I focused exclusively on the living room and the dining nook. I started off with small sections, just trying to complete them, one at a time.

Having taken a little walk around the apartment, I counted fourteen empty light sockets, there’s another example. I bought five bulbs first time around. I bought four more as I washed walls. I spent two and a half weeks washing walls, which also involved moving furniture. The thing snowballs, to the effect that having pulled out a wall unit, a couch, a fridge or a stove, now it’s time to wash the floor as well. And having washed one part of the floor, it becomes immediately obvious that you might was well go on and wash the rest of it.

Now it’s time to wash the windows, and the door frames and the doors, and the bedroom walls, and the hallway, and the bathroom ceiling…every fucking bit of it was incremental, ladies and gentlemen, and it’s not even done yet.

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I went out and bought a new shower curtain. Six dollars. I bought five more light bulbs…they’re less than a dollar each. We have spares in the cupboard. I just bought a couple of night-lights. Think about the psychology. I get up in the middle of the night to pee, and what do I see? Yes, I see that little bluish light in the bathroom. I see something else, too.

Stella, one of our interns here at Long Cool One Books.

Change.

I see change, and change is good. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I see a new bath mat, ($4.50, Dollarama), I see three new wash cloths, ($1.75), I see a new pair of shoes in the closet and maybe even some new socks and underwear in there too.

Looking into our crystal ball, I can see a couple of new towels in the near future. I can see myself pulling down these horrible old curtains and taking them on a little trip to the laundromat. There’s nine years of nicotine in those, and that’s just a fact.

It isn’t even all that expensive, especially as I don’t have to do it all at once. Just for background, I’ve just gotten off of ODSP, disability, after thirty years. Old Age Security and Canada Pension Plan, GIS and all of that results in a pretty substantial raise, which should tell you a little something about the Ontario Disability Support Program. The point is, we’re just a little bit scared to spend money, what with it being so fucking precious all of the time. The surplus is not large, and it could be squandered fairly quickly as well…by this time next week, ladies and gentlemen, I swear to God that I will probably have little wicker bowls full of potpourri, set out here and there, on the back of the toilet tank for example. I'll have them sitting on little lace doilies from Dollarama.

And it will be well.

I want to buy one of those plug-in air fresheners. Then, when I come home from work, the place doesn’t stink like dead tobacco smoke, or the bacon grease on the walls, or old-man smell coming off the bed sheets and pillow cases.

I deserve that much, but then I am prepared to do the work, and to spend the four bucks or whatever.

When the time comes, I’m going to take this old rag of a winter coat, I’m going to put it in the fire pit out behind my mother’s place and I’m going to burn it. Just one more little change, right…I absolutely promise to take a picture and tell you beautiful people all about it.

Right?

And that will be a very good day indeed.

 

END

 

On Frugality, and Poverty Thinking.

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Thank you for reading.