When you peel back the many identity layers that society places upon you, the mom layer, the wife layer, the 'insert job here' layer, who are YOU? The you who thinks your thoughts, who dreams your dreams, who is she? Are you a straight line without bends or corners? Are you predictable and sure, or impulsive and funny? Are you both? Is it possible to be both?
What do your surroundings say about you? Do you design your world to reflect who you are within? Do you create spaces to sustain who resides inside you? If I looked at your home, would I see your personality?
In this post, I had a little fun. Because we are allowed to be many things, or different things at different times. We are also allowed to be completely contradictory things…
Red Drops
I noticed a spot of red paint on the cabin decking today. One perfect crimson droplet, round and complete. In stature, it could not compete with the lowly dime. It was miniscule, really.
In the grand scheme of things, that drop of paint was insignificant. Yet, it made me pause. It created within, just the teensiest bit of anxiety. Staining that deck was a painstaking ordeal. It held little joy. I agonized over the precise color, choosing the sweetest shade of brown to complement the Cape Cod blue of our wooden shakes. I was adamant that not a HINT of red should lurk in the brown stain. No siree, Bob. Red undertones would detract from the intense blue siding, not balance it.
Once chosen, I insisted on applying the color with a soft cloth – a brush would leave streaks. Hours were spent on my hands and knees, applying the stain in circular strokes, rubbing over and over, fashioning the Aladdin’s lamp of decks. When finished, the surface appeared soft. I kid you not. It brought to mind the fur of a silky kitten. When I ran my hand along it, I truly expected the crush of velvet.
Now the deck that I had meticulously stained just weeks ago, was marred by a splash of red paint. It resided directly in front of our patio door, a snapping, snarling guard dog, impossible to ignore. Where did it come from? No doubt it was a careless run-away from my brush as I painted our kitchen pantry the day before.
The pantry stands out in our little cabin, a fiery explosion of vibrant crimson. My husband built the cabinet and I antiqued it to look weathered, yet trendy by today’s standards. It is the lone splash of vivid color in our predominantly wooden retreat. I adore that cupboard. I adore the scarlet color that it wears…that I chose. But mostly, I adore what it says about me. The pantry articulates that I have an eye for decorating, that I can put together a room. Further to that, it says that I am able to take risks, that beneath my responsible, somewhat anxious exterior, there lives a passionate woman.
If the pantry is my daring rebel cry, my siren song, the deck is my labour of perfection. It too, makes a statement about Tracy. This facet of me is methodical, exact, unbending. This Tracy wants the world ordered precisely, a refuge from chaos. She is without compromise.
Therefore, imagine my reaction to the red drop upon the deck. To the neon greeter, the flashing sign, at the threshold of our beloved cabin. My initial impulse was to sand the imperfection away. Immediately. And to re-stain the blemish. But would the stain then be darker in the overlaps? It is difficult to fix JUST the damaged portion…new stain will carry over onto the perfectly finished bits...
You may be surprised by my solution to this disaster of epic proportions…
After much thought…I did nothing. Absolutely nothing.
Yup. I left that glaring red droplet (Out, damn’d spot!) right before our front entrance. I laughed at the swell of unwanted color, at the gods who scorned my hard work, but mostly I laughed at myself. Who am I anyway? Am I the orderly, precise and uptight school marm with the exemplary deck? Or am I the devil-may-care harlot who throws vibrant hues willy-nilly about her life?
I am both. My splattered deck proves it.