Guests frequently visit my home—each time, they take up space.
They don't announce themselves or even ring the doorbell. It feels like they slip right between the threshold and nestle themselves next to me on the couch.
They don't take their shoes off or even their coat.
Entering in a twirl, swirl, shake and stomp.
I once tried to lock them out. I deadbolted the door and slid an armoire against the frame. I taped all possible routes in and added sandbags for weight. I drew the curtains so there would be no luck of an outside view. Then I proceeded with my life as normal, hoping that these guests would find another place to lounge and dance.
It didn't work.
All it did was make it harder for me to get out.
They flooded me. I was drowning trying to move the furniture, find the leak and keep swimming. The more I went about my day the more they pounded at the door. The more I acted like they didn't exist, the more they asserted their presence. I needed to give the waves somewhere to go.
So now I let the guests in. Sometimes they meet a gently closed door or a slight ajar. And on my best days, the door is wide open because they want to roam and exit as quickly as they came.
Of course, there's one who makes a fort in the most inconvenient place. Like the middle of the kitchen, on the way to the bath, or at the bottom of the stairs. I couldn't avoid them if I wanted to.
They all need something different. Everyone is seeking accommodation. Here's what I've learned.
I know to give anger space because she hates feeling closed in, and grief doesn't take well to being rushed.
Contentment appears in the fall of a leaf. Sauntering weightlessly, then coming to rest on the ground.
Loneliness won a lot of battles but never the war. However, she knows the place the best. She knows where I keep the linens, extra batteries, and pads. What draw to search for scratch paper, fine cutlery, and navy spools of thread. She is resilient like a taproot but love pries up her hold and sweeps her out the door.
Jealously always needs the reminder that what she desires, desires her too.
Uncertainty and joy are twins. They stay for a night, an hour, a day or three. When asked where they go when not here, I was told they find a home in everything and within everyone.
So my house remains open to my guests, as they come and go. There's a spot awaiting their return on the couch.
Excellent!
As always, beautifully written. This is a banger! Love how you entertained your guest- whether you liked to or not.