Someone came into my house and ran their fingers over my furnishings, leaving little snail trails in the dust that had settled.
It felt like blatant judgement; a not so subtle statement about my lack lustre performance in the domestic arts department. Despite the toilets and floors being recently cleaned, the yard looking tidy, and the beds being freshly laundered—there was still dust. I knew the fact my furniture got the white glove treatment meant my cleaning skills were met with scrutiny. The evidence was there.
The fact is, dust is a part of life. Who am I to question its existence?
I have never gone into someone's home and run my fingers over their things looking for dust, but here’s the thing…to me dust represents something positive.
It is a return to adventure, the chasing of dreams, time spent with great people, the fast-pace of work, and the ability to reembark on the vibrant, chaotic, exhilarating, fulfilling, and rewarding things I was missing just a short time ago.
The dust represents saying yes to concerts, lunch dates, bike rides, and even quiet time at home relaxing. I was never worried about where the dust fell.
Dust doesn’t do anything. It isn’t a menace, or a foe. It can’t help you, or hurt you. It’s just there. And even when you dust it away–it comes back. Dust is like that.
I don’t regret how I’ve spent my time, even though the house is not always gleaming. I have amazing memories of river paddling (river silt dust), travel (road dust), gardening (yard dust), dog walks (shoe and paw dust), and festivals (so much dust).
There’s a pattern here.
Yes, I’ve dusted away the offending finger swooshes, and made a few deliberate passes over the obvious dusty spaces, but it will return before I know it. Life is dusty!
Here’s to being so tired from living life to the fullest, we don’t have the energy to lift a duster🦋