The value of care and knowledge

Some musings in the sun about the value of unpaid labour

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My toddler falls asleep 10 minutes before we have to go and get her brother. Oh, well. Some sleep is better than none, I think to myself. I go outside, stand in the sun, thawing. Stretch my hands, watch my fingers regain their colour. I feel the sun on my face, on my ankles. I fold their small clothes, thinking they are dry- until I touch one that is not and notice I have to hang them all out again. I can hear the neighbours talking softly.

Those same neighbours have put a bird feeder in the garden, one with a little camera on it. They derive such joy from watching the birds on their phone. Their joy reminds me of Emilia Makropulos’ words in Capek’s play:

It's disgusting to think how happy you are. And it's simply due to the ridiculous coincidence that you're going to die soon. You take an ape-like interest in everything …

There is a white butterfly flying around below the grass which I take an ape-like interest in, admiring its beauty. A dog barks at the other side of the valley but I can hear it as if it were here with me. The sky is intensely blue and the trees sway softly; recovering from the wind we’ve had these past few days.

I think about the phrase ‘’thirst for knowledge’’ and acknowledge, again, that I’ve always felt it. What does one do, nowadays, with a thirst for knowledge? There are no intellectuals without bank accounts to match or people in the background, able to pay for the intellectual’s ‘‘thirst’’. I don’t want to be dependent on somebody else forever but how to work, mother, and continue learning? We have been taught that doing something without getting paid is selfish. Stay at home mums, the people who don’t work, the people who stay home to live with their parents before facing the rentals they can’t afford or the despair of never having a place that is theirs.

To learn, to know, to understand. I have so many questions, I am interested in so many topics that to think of dying without giving it the time it deserves; to think that even if I spent every day embarked on this quest, I would only scratch the surface. Knowledge. Such an abstract word, yet so exciting. Knowledge isn’t power. Was it ever?

For years, this has been my dirty secret: I can’t find a way of making the things I do lead to financial gain. ‘‘If you do something for free, is it valuable? Are you even doing anything?’’ I like to think my work has value. I sometimes work 20 hour shifts and, even though I don’t have a wage, I hope my payment will be having strong and resilient children who know their own minds. I hope every kiss on their temples and the hundreds of times I have bundled them up to carry them up or down the stairs, still asleep, will act as reserves they can lean into when they struggle.

I read and write because I need to understand the world better. I’m looking for the ways people have found meaning and contentment in life. My work has no financial value but I hope I’ll be able to give them the freedom of choice and the gift of understanding. Reading helps me have an open mind and a curiosity about the reasons behind people’s choices, rather than an immediate rejection of said choices. I hope the stories I hold inside me will help them in some way, just like they help me.

I see a bird fly by with a stick in its mouth, busy with the task of creating a warm and safe space for its young. I finish hanging the clothes on the line and check on lunch, turning the stove off. Quietly, I pick my sleeping toddler up and we go out into the sun.