Texting with a friend on the other side of the country recently gave way to an unexpected and surprising life lesson.
By now we all know how to effectively “fakebook” our lives to the masses. Via social media we share only our happiest moments, credit-drenched vacations and most artfully designed meals. We FaceTime or Skype with loved ones in strategic positions so as to not reveal the disaster a few feet away (yet are often foiled by the kids when they dash off with our phones, exposing every unsightly corner to the grandparents).
So when I was chatting with my pal in Toronto and he asked about the temperature I didn’t hesitate to snap a quick and pride-filled pic of our budding spring weather out the front window. It comes so naturally now, I only gave a fleeting thought to framing the shot so to reveal the top part of the couch (but not the laundry), the windows (but not the one with the messed up blinds) and a few house plants on the left (because the one on the right should have been composted months ago).
“Wow,” was how he began his response, assuming he was blown away by our sunny March weather, “is your house ever clean.”
Um. That’s not a common phrase uttered in reaction to seeing my home. Even my friend, a cleaner who I’ve used off and on for several years, once commented that we Waldorf families tend to have a lot of “stuff.” George Carlin would call it something else.
I had to laugh. If I took one step back and moved to the right the picture would have been completely different. So I did, I snapped it and I sent it.
“This is what my house really looks like,” I typed.
And thus we launched into a litany of what might be best referred to as “home disclosure photos.”
My livingroom littered with stuffed animals from a performance piece a couple of nights before; his sink piled high with dishes (he’s a father of three, often home with the kids); my kitchen counter covered in bills and school papers and a rainbow of hair elastics; a counter-counter photo looking similarly disheveled.
We were both a bit giddy, I dare say, about the shocking and honest revelations.
Most of us would argue that technology has made connecting easier than ever. But has it? That all depends on the type of connection you are going for. Social media has certainly done its fair share of shaming, dividing, and basically making us feel pretty crappy on a fairly consistent basis: Our houses don’t measure up, our vacations don’t measure up, even our nights out at the pub don’t measure up.
Perhaps it’s time we stopped all the vanity sharing?
Later that week I had a fairly new friend pop by somewhat unexpectedly to pick up a book. The kids had just left for school and I’d just put the kettle on. It was whistling madly when I got to the door, so it seemed natural to invite her in for a cup of tea. I hesitated though.
With no warning I didn’t have time to do the 10,000-second-tidy that would be required to comfortably welcome this mom into our chaotic home. It felt uncomfortable and embarrassing.
And for that very reason I did it anyway. There’s no way that I was going to miss out on a good heartfelt connection with a clearly awesome human being because I had yet to move the breakfast dishes off the kitchen table.
And she was so thrilled. I even went so far as to say, “I’m intentionally not apologizing for the state of my house. I hope you won’t judge.”
She laughed. I laughed. And suddenly I knew that the connections I long for don’t take place in magazine-staged living spaces. They take place in MY living space. Regardless of whether I’ve tackled the dishes or put away the laundry.
Maybe this week I’ll even be brave enough to post one of those photos on social media.