Surfaces

We had houseguests a few weeks ago. Friends who have come to visit several times. They’re great guests to have – up for anything and easy going, willing to help and never demanding any extra effort. Nevertheless, I rushed around before their arrival, ensuring everything was in place and as clean as I could manage. I fussed while they were here, dusting shelves, wiping down tables, straightening tea towels. Everything had to be perfect, all the time. 

After they left, my husband pointed out the irony in my behaviour. The glass coffee table must be meticulously polished, but the junk drawer contents are overflowing. Take a peek inside the garage, an area visitors don’t generally see, and stacks of boxes teeter precariously awaiting a permanent resting place. Look in my laundry room and you’ll see a pile of laundry. It’s clean and folded, sure, but needs to be put away.

My husband is right. I care about what people see. Perhaps I care about the superficial. Obsessing over the glass coffee table and the need to be the first on the block with a shovelled walk, all the while neglecting my junk drawer, garage, laundry. Surfaces appear to take precedence. 

I was suitably chastised and the next morning I set out to prove C wrong. I can do better, I thought. As I worked to quash the chaos in cupboards, drawers, the garage, the laundry room, I couldn’t help but wonder if my junk drawer mirrored my personal life. What I project and what I hide. Surface: ordered, inside: chaos.

Let me explain a little. I am one of those people who functions best when things around me are neat and organized. If the room is chaotic, my mind is chaotic. When things are in their place, when things are ‘just-so’, the constant chatter in my brain seems slightly less obstreperous. Seems reasonable, right? I’ve always told myself it is, and I can justify sitting down and relaxing only after everything is tidied and in its place. But the more I think about it, the more I wonder if it’s a strategy to keep my mind occupied. A slightly obsessive way to stall. Or maybe a way to pretend to myself that I have control. And what does this say about me when I wonder if I’m not doing this just for myself and my mental wellbeing, but perhaps I’m also doing it for the image it presents to others. 

Here we come to the crux of the matter and I’m sure I’m not the only person who thinks this way: I’m only as good as the external I present. In other words, I’m only good enough if everything around me is in order. This belief appears to be deeply ingrained and I’m wondering now if it’s all wrong. Because, despite this ingrained belief, I know that what matters most is what’s inside.

Does this mean my junk drawer is more important than my coffee table?

I think about times when my mind is running rampant but what I present is a happy smile that suggests all is well. The parts of my physical appearance that perhaps fail to mirror what’s deeper down. My predilection for teeth whitening toothpaste and the occasional Crest whitening strip (I know, I know) when I don’t floss daily. Pictures taken with good lighting to ensure my skin looks smooth and youthful. Dye to cover my mostly grey hair. You know what I mean…

Before moving north, I was a regular makeup wearer. I wasn’t particularly skilled at makeup application, nor did I keep up with all the trends and the tutorials and the latest and greatest products. However, makeup was a part of my daily routine. At the time, I did sometimes wonder whether I wore it for myself or for others. 

The first few months after moving north, I spent a good deal of time alone. I wasn’t working and didn’t know many people so while C was at work, I spent my time at home or on the trails with Chilli. This was January. The days were short and cold. But yes, I still wore makeup. Not every day, but often. In fact, one of my favourite stories from those early days was when I met the woman who would become my colleague and friend. I was walking Chilli and it was -40C. Months later, she told me she’d gone to work afterward and told her co-workers, “I just saw that new girl out with a full face of makeup on in this weather! She’ll never last.” But last I did!

The ritual of applying makeup is something I take pleasure in. Despite my lack of expertise, I appreciate the creativity in it, just as I enjoy selecting what I’m going to wear. Living here did make me evaluate my relationship with makeup. And I realized quickly that I wore it for myself. Some days, I don’t wear it, and other days, I do. Turns out I feel good either way! 

If what others see were my motivation for polishing and primping, imagine what things would look like if I had no visitors. I think about that and remember that we live in a remote community. We don’t have visitors often. My home is not on display. So, it turns out that while I fuss over houseguests, I also fuss without them. I want my home to be tidy – that’s what I feel most comfortable in. I want it to be cozy, and I want those aesthetic touches. I like to shovel the walkway. It’s just what I would do. I want that all for me. For my own comfort. And despite having just deep cleaned, I’ll probably (read: definitely) still have that overflowing junk drawer. I’ll probably always have the clean laundry waiting to be folded and put away. 

So no, my junk drawer is not more important than my coffee table. They’re different. That’s what I’ve resolved. And I think it’s probably okay for things to be a little disorganized in certain places, and my mind might rarely be silent, because that’s just me. I’d even argue that it’s authentic living. There are things that give me peace and there are things I know will always be a bit of a jumble. And that’s just fine.