real life doesn’t match (itty bitty thoughts)
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I visited with my grandma a few days ago. Now that’s grandpa is gone, she’s starting to go through her house and get rid of things. She’d started quite a pile of things for me to take—waffle iron, wok, tupperware, wool blankets, utility knife blades, large mixing bowls.
“Hey,” she said. “Do you need a big rug?”
Actually, we did. There is no carpet in our house and our living room rug had recently been destroyed by a dog. Winter is coming, and that floor is gonna be cold.
“Yeah, I’ll take it.”
“Well, what color is your living room?”
People have colors in their living room, I guess.
“Grandma, I’ll take the rug.”
“But it’s blue and white. Will it match?”
“I don’t care if it matches, Grandma. It’s a rug.”
She smiled because she loves my fiestiness (some of it comes directly from her) and then pointed me to the rug rolled up in the corner so I can load that in my vehicle, too.
What color is my living room?
My living room walls are a sorta of butterscotch color. The furniture—all on its last legs—is army green, although I’m sure there’s a designer word for that particular shade. And because I’ve always believed that everyone should have a blankie to wrap up in, there are blankets on all the furniture. The blankets are all various colors. Patchwork and plaid and all sorts of things.
And now there is a giant rug in the middle of the floor made of rings of blue and white.
Nothing in my living room matches.
But that kind of describes my life, too.
I have friends who are alcoholics and friends who don’t drink.
I have friends who are pagan, christians, and atheists.
I enjoy bluegrass and I enjoy industrial metal.
I have gal pals who wear skirts because “that’s what women do” and I have gal pals who are married to gals.
And none of these things match—but they all fit because they make up the many facets of me.
Me. The gal who is mostly a dork but can also keep it together long enough for a fancy event.
Me. The gal who sometimes wants to head to the range to blow everything up and sometimes just wants to sit in the grass and meditate.
Me. The gal who isn’t sure if she wants to lead a small revolution or just disappear forever into the deep woods.
My life does not match.
But I think that’s okay. If it doesn’t have to immediately match, a person is allowed the freedom to explore the depth of who they really are.
If it doesn’t have to match, we can explore all the colors and all the things.
And if it doesn’t have to match, we aren’t forced to automatically and immediately exclude options on the basis that they aren’t the right shade of gray to fit in our head.
— Amy Dingmann 9-24-20