I can hear the spinning wheels of the cart chatter as they move across the unevenly tiled floor. The cart’s pilot is a well-dressed woman in her 40s， loudly talking into her mobile phone while she tries to 1）manoeuvre the cart with one hand.

It’s overflowing with white fabric， decorated with 2）crumbs and lipstick—a clue that her cart is full of soiled restaurant-quality tablecloths and napkins. Her conversation with the attendants is loud enough for all to hear， and it’s clear she’s at first glance 3）agitated， rushed and 4）frantic. This is not a place she’s familiar with， nor is it the place she wants to be.

I’m in my local laundromat， and this display has ripped my attention from my morning newspaper. The space is well-lit， clean and mostly quiet， save for the rows of rumbling washers and the rhythmic sounds of clothes flopping around in the glass-fronted dryers. Fellow launderers sit reading magazines or books； some work on laptops. Every time the door opens， the notices on the nearby 5）bulletin board briefly rustle in the breeze.

I’m tempted to feel superior here because I’m comfortable and familiar in this place， while the loud woman is obviously not. I’m tempted to smirk at her questions about the machines’ settings， since I can roll my cart to any machine and operate it with ease， like my mom works her knitting needles.

Because I’m still tempted， it’s clear I have not yet fully achieved Laundromat Zen.

The laundromat hasn’t always been a positive element in my life. When my wife and I moved to the city a couple of years ago， we were excited to find a basement suite in our price range that had high ceilings， counter space， windows and storage—but no laundry machines hid in any of the many closets. This meant that， for the first time， we would have to leave the house to wash our clothes.

Our landlords have a set of machines that we are not welcome to share， the sounds of the thumping spin cycle taunting us through the living room wall. Outside， sweet-smelling dryer exhaust escapes the house a few feet from our entrance. 6）Lugging our full laundry bins and bags to the car is especially 7）onerous under these conditions， and it was easy to grumble while spending the majority of my Saturday morning at the laundromat. There were many things I’d rather be doing； I could be sleeping， going for a run， or even wrestling hair out of the bathroom drain.

But， after spending so much time here， I slowly began to learn from the laundromat. It has shown itself to be a great 8）equalizer in the midst of a frantic， material city. Outside the doors， indicators of wealth and status become obvious. Expensive 9）strollers， designer umbrellas and bags full of organic groceries point to bank accounts more flush than my own.

Inside the laundromat， however， the only currency that matters is measured in quarters and 10）loonies. We all hope for side-by-side machines， but don’t always get them. We occasionally forget the 11）detergent. And we must all sit， wait， and occupy ourselves while the laundry continues to cycle. There are no shortcuts.

This sitting and waiting has become an integral part of Laundromat Zen. Listening to my clothes spinning in the washer， or watching them being rhythmically rolled around in the dryer， I’m able to relax， knowing that for the next couple of hours， there’s nothing to strive for， nothing to accomplish， and no standards to live up to. There’s only my laundry.

The laundromat also has a unique way of breaking down conventional privacy barriers. Experienced users aren’t timid about displaying their choice of bedroom sheets， bathroom towels or exercise clothes. I was initially shy about taking my wife’s bras and my boxers out of the dryer and folding them.

I soon realized that being embarrassed or trying to hide these was time-consuming and energy-sapping； it would be easier to simply own the idea of advertising our underwear choices to the public. Yes， world， I wear Christmas-themed underwear out of season. The state may have no place in the bedrooms of the nation， but it could certainly get a few sneak peeks at the corner 12）launderette.

My weekly ritual at the laundromat has shown me that everyone is equal inside its doors， and I have learned to take this teaching outside them as well. I must avoid thinking I’m superior to anyone， no matter how loudly they’re talking on their cellphone while they manoeuvre their cart full of restaurant linens. Similarly， I must remember that there’s nobody better than me， no matter what stroller they’re pushing or the origin of the groceries in their bag. I remind myself that wealth and achievement are not 13）harbingers of happiness and success， and should not signify self-worth. Equally important is remembering to look deeply into the machines to check for any 14）rogue socks.

When I first began frequenting the laundromat， the experience cast a pall on my day because I thought I could be making better use of my time. Now， it serves to remind me of what’s important in life， and has given me insight into the human condition that I didn’t expect.

Now， when I begin to strive， compare， and doubt myself， I know it’s time to grab my laundry bins and head for the door.

我能聽到飛轉(zhuǎn)的手推車輪子在凹凸不平的磚鋪地板上滾過時(shí)咔嗒咔嗒的響聲。推車的是一位穿著講究的四十多歲的婦女，她拿著手機(jī)大聲地講著電話，并盡力用另外一只手控制推車。

推車上載滿白色的布料，布料上點(diǎn)綴著糕點(diǎn)屑和口紅印——這說明她的推車?yán)锼d的皆是些弄臟了的餐廳用的桌布和餐巾。她和餐廳服務(wù)員的對(duì)話音量大得全世界都能聽到，而且一眼就可以看出她是急躁、匆忙、狂亂三位一體。這兒是既非她熟悉，亦非她想來的地方。

我正在家附近的自助洗衣店里，此情此景將我的注意力從晨報(bào)閱讀中給揪了出來。這地方光線充足、干凈，且通常比較安靜——除了一排排隆隆作響的洗衣機(jī)，以及帶玻璃門擋的干衣機(jī)里衣服翻動(dòng)發(fā)出的節(jié)奏性聲響外。來洗衣服的“同道中人”，有的坐著看雜志或書，有的在筆記本上忙活著。每次有人開門，旁邊布告欄上的告示就會(huì)在一陣微風(fēng)中窸窣飄揚(yáng)一下。

因?yàn)閷?duì)這個(gè)地方感覺舒適和熟悉，我不禁有一種高人一等的感覺，而那位大嗓門的婦女則顯然不如我。對(duì)于她那些關(guān)于機(jī)器設(shè)定的問題，我不禁付之一笑，因?yàn)槲夷軌虬淹栖囃频饺魏我慌_(tái)機(jī)器前并輕松自如地進(jìn)行操作，就像我媽媽做她的針線活兒那樣流利。

顯然我還沒能完全參透自助洗衣店的“禪道”，因?yàn)槲疫€會(huì)情不自禁，被干擾分心。

自助洗衣店在我的生活中并非一直起著如此積極的意義。當(dāng)我和妻子幾年前搬到這座城市時(shí)，我們當(dāng)時(shí)為能在我們的租金要求范圍內(nèi)租到一套具有高天花板、柜臺(tái)空間、窗戶和儲(chǔ)物室的地下室套間感到無比興奮——但是在那么多的壁柜里卻找不到洗衣設(shè)備。這就意味著，我們不得不到家外面去洗衣服，對(duì)我們來說這是頭一遭。

我們的房東有一套洗衣設(shè)備，但不太愿意與我們共享，那轟隆隆的旋轉(zhuǎn)聲響隔著客廳的墻壁嘲弄著我們。外面，干衣機(jī)排出的香氣從家的大門口飄散到好幾英尺遠(yuǎn)。在這樣的情況下，把大包小包的待洗衣物拖上車著實(shí)是一件特別累人的活兒，而且把周六上午的大部分時(shí)間花在自助洗衣店里極易讓人變得牢騷滿腹。我寧愿去做的還有大把的事，我可以睡懶覺，去跑跑步，甚至去跟那些纏在浴室排水管里的頭發(fā)搏斗。

但是，在這里花了很多的時(shí)間后，我漸漸開始懂得向自助洗衣店學(xué)習(xí)。在這么一座瘋狂、物質(zhì)化的城市中，自主洗衣店是一股強(qiáng)大的均衡力量。門外，各種有關(guān)財(cái)富和地位的標(biāo)識(shí)皆如此清晰明確。昂貴的手推童車，設(shè)計(jì)時(shí)尚的雨傘，以及裝滿有機(jī)食品的袋子顯示著銀主們的豐厚家產(chǎn)，我的，那是相形見拙了。

然而，在自助洗衣店里，唯一起作用的貨幣是以25美分和1元硬幣來計(jì)算的。我們都希望能找到那些并排的機(jī)器，但并不總能如意。我們都會(huì)偶爾忘記清洗劑。而且當(dāng)衣服轉(zhuǎn)來轉(zhuǎn)去時(shí)，我們都不得不坐下來，等待，并找些事情打發(fā)時(shí)間。沒有任何捷徑可取。

這種安坐和等候已然成為了自助洗衣店禪學(xué)修煉中不可分割的一部分。聽著我的衣服在洗衣機(jī)里旋轉(zhuǎn)，或是看著它們在干衣機(jī)里有節(jié)奏地翻滾，我得以放松下來，因?yàn)樾睦锴宄诮酉聛淼膸讉€(gè)小時(shí)里我不需要去奮斗什么，不需要去實(shí)現(xiàn)什么，也不需要去達(dá)到什么標(biāo)準(zhǔn)。只待衣服洗完。

自助洗衣店還有它打破傳統(tǒng)隱私壁壘的獨(dú)特方式。經(jīng)驗(yàn)老到的顧客不會(huì)為展示他們的床單、浴巾或運(yùn)動(dòng)服而感到害羞。我起初就為從干衣機(jī)中取出妻子的胸衣和自己的平角褲，以及把這些東西疊好而感到很不好意思。

很快我便意識(shí)到為此感到尷尬或嘗試把它們藏起來都是費(fèi)時(shí)又徒勞的；最簡易的解決方法就是改變一下自己的觀念：把我們的內(nèi)衣選擇公諸于眾。沒錯(cuò)，全世界聽著，我不合時(shí)節(jié)地穿著圣誕主題的內(nèi)衣。這種廣告詞是無法在全國的臥室里引起任何關(guān)注的，但是在街角的自助洗衣店里卻一定能引來幾眼偷窺。

我每周的自助洗衣店日程向我展示了一點(diǎn)：那就是在里面所有人都是平等的，而我還把這點(diǎn)領(lǐng)悟延伸至門外的世界。我必須要避免那種自以為高人一等的想法，即使對(duì)方一邊推著滿車的餐廳桌布一邊大聲地講電話。同理，我必須記住沒有任何人高我一等，不管他們手推著何種童車抑或他們的袋子里裝著哪個(gè)產(chǎn)地的食品。我提醒自己，財(cái)富和成就并不是幸福與成功的標(biāo)志，更不代表個(gè)人價(jià)值。同樣重要的是要記住看清楚機(jī)器里有沒有一些散失的襪子。

當(dāng)我剛開始頻繁出入自助洗衣店時(shí)，這種經(jīng)驗(yàn)給我的日子蒙上了一層陰影，因?yàn)槲蚁胛铱梢愿玫乩米约旱臅r(shí)間。如今，它卻提醒了我生活中什么才是重要的，而且還給了我從未期望過的深入人類境況的洞見。

如今，當(dāng)我開始奮斗、比較和懷疑自己時(shí)，我就知道是時(shí)候拎起我的待洗衣物前往那扇門了。