Quality Is Love

Somewhere in the world, right now, there’s a robot folding hankies.

Seriously. Take a look at it.

OK, they’re not really hankies; rather, “rectangular pieces of cloth.”

But, just focus for a moment on the the geek-love expressed by the title of the accompanying post (“Adorable Laundry-Folding Robot Gives Your Towels Fastidious Attention”). The robot isn’t simply an intriguing technological accomplishment, it’s “adorable”. What’s that all about?

I have a theory. Stay with me on this: Maybe observing our attention to quality makes others feel cared for even if they’re not the direct targets of the attention. 

Leave aside the fact that PopSci readers probably comprise a sample that skews heavily robophilic; casting adorableness on a mechanical valet bears notice.

Perhaps what the poster found truly compelling is the time the ’bot takes to examine, analyze, align, fold and smooth. It gives its full, considerable attention to a task many of us would prefer never to have to do again. It seems to…care. Those unremarkable quads of fabric seem to be in quite good hands—er, impactive end effectors.

But the very existence of this sophisticated device tells us something else: habituating quality is not easy.

Why else would someone spend valuable brain power and grant money, activities that on first blush seem far more difficult than folding, to create such a machine? Because the simplest things are often the hardest? Because they force us to strip everything down and face what we truly value, to face our challenges, our fears?

You’re giggling at me, aren’t you? Trying to wring all that philosophical bull from a laundry-folding robot, you’re muttering to yourself, shaking your head. I know…just stay with me a bit longer.

Amy Maclin, in a recent issue of Body + Soul Magazine, examined the quality of her home environment and found it wanting, pugnaciously wondering why dishes wouldn’t stay done nor soap scum scrubbed. She consulted Zen Buddhist priest Karen Maezen Miller, who boiled it down to this:

“Only you, with your own attention, can change your life. Attention is love. Pay attention to the dusty floors, the dirty windows and the cluttered closet. There are no cleaning secrets, and there is no hidden meaning. Your own attention is what transforms your life.”

Am I suggesting that the robot, in its relentlessly careful folding, is engaging in biomechanical self-care? Nah; lucky stiff, its life purpose is preprogrammed, no judgment required. Am I making the claim that creating quality is like housework? In a way, the same way housework is like a daily run, or meditation, or feeding a baby.

People, organizations who steep themselves in quality are communicating that what they attend to matters and what matters will be really well-cared-for. Your attention informs those watching—your vendors, your colleagues, your clients, your members—that they are in good hands indeed.