My Place in This World

So, I have this sister in law, Lydie.

Lydie and I often find ourselves musing about the fact that our husbands are nearly the same person. Those brothers are more like twins. They have the same idiosyncrasies, a lot of the same interests and hobbies, the same habits and facial expressions. It's crazy how alike they are. Lydie and I will be talking and one of us will mention something our husband said or did and immediately the other exclaims "Mine does that too!"

While we married basically identical men, Lydie and I are very opposite in most aspects of our lives. Lydie is a doer. A fixer. Up at the crack of dawn, always on the go. She enjoys exercise, yardwork and home remodeling. Not only enjoys them, but actually does them. She makes it a priority to stay fit and active. She loves hosting parties. She's dark and beautiful and exotic looking.

Then, there's me. Next to Lydie, I look like a walrus taking a nap on a rock. I am not a morning person, unless we're talking about 4 am or earlier. I am not a doer. There are 8769 little things around this house I should be doing right now, but instead I sit here at my netbook purging my brain of random thoughts. And exercise? EXERCISE? You must be joking. You know where I stand on yardwork from previous posts. I am not a busy person. I like to be still and quiet and read and write and think ever so deep thoughts. I don't like hosting parties. Too much pressure to be perfect and hospitable. I don't like pressure. And I'm pasty and doughy and odd looking.

But in spite of our vast differences, Lydie and I get along really well. Maybe because we are so different.

My goal lately has been to hide myself less. I used to get royally embarrassed to have Lydie see my sink piled with dishes or the dozens of little odd jobs waiting to be done around the house. I'd clean up before she came over. I'd pretend that I'm a doer too. That I actually care that there are cracks in my ceiling that I must do something about.

I don't know why I get like that. It's not like Lydie is a snooty judgmental person. She could care less how much laundry I have piled up. So why did I feel like I had to put on airs?

This morning I watched Lydie's kids while she and her husband played soccer (I know, exercise AGAIN). They came over at 8:45. That's not really that early, since Thing Two gets up as soon as he feels the rotation of the earth shifting toward daytime. But while I'm awake at 8:45, that doesn't mean I'm useful at 8:45. There was a time when I would have hurried to clean up the house before they came over. But not today. Today there was clutter all over my living room, the recliner was overflowing with laundry waiting to be folded (I call it my laundry chair) and the dishes had overflown the sink and were starting to migrate into other parts of the house. Today, I embraced being me: the scatterbrained, semi coherent at 8:45, sloppy non-doer. I didn't even brush my teeth.

And surprisingly, it wasn't that uncomfortable for me. I'm learning to be more transparent. My husband and I have a joke that our life is all about "hiding the crazy". But more and more, I've been lowering my walls and just being me. And the world hasn't ended.

I'm grateful for the Lydies of the world. Without them, fixer uppers would never become beautiful homes, weeds would overtake the earth, and Pottery Barn would have no target demographic. We need these people in our world, inspiring us to do more and be better. And get off our lazy butts and load the dishwasher.

But on the other hand, I think there might be a place for me in this world too. Sometimes, everyone needs to be reminded to be still and quiet. To not be so busy and running around. To keep the couch warm while you read a good book or write a silly blog post. To be obsessed with the written word and information.

It takes all kinds.

Some of us will be exotic beautiful female Bob Vilas. And some of us will be strange looking writing musicians. And there's room for us all.