Trappings

I stepped into the shower today, and was greeted-not for the first time-by the sight of a moderately sized clump of hair-wet, disgusting, and left in a wad on the small bench in the corner of the shower enclosure.

"Gross." I thought. "Why does he do that? Would it be so difficult to fish the hair out of the drain and then put in the trash, instead of leaving it here for me to find?" I asked myself, irritated. I slid open the shower door and tossed the clump of hair into the toilet, and made a mental note to talk to Kevin about it later. "He should know better." I told myself.

As I slid the shower door re-shut, my mind shot backward. Backward to the days when I exhibited the same sense of irritation about a pair of white, nondescript sweat socks. Always crew length, always slid first off one foot-then the other, and left on the floor in front of my sofa. Endless were the days I nagged about these socks. For years these socks made their nightly appearance on my living room floor, and for years I either cajoled the owner to pick them up or I would begrudgingly gather them myself to be laundered.

Nearly 3 years ago, those socks stopped appearing on my living room floor.

I missed those socks-desperately. I longed for their presence, for the signal they left that there was another person in the house with me-somebody that shared my burdens and my life. I thought endlessly about those white socks, and would have dreams about walking into the living room to see them.

As I lathered my hair today in the shower, I thought about the disgusting clump of hair left in the corner. I thought about the pants that get left on my bedroom floor. I thought about the shoes that litter my bedroom floor. I thought about the countless little things that signal that there is another person in this house with me-somebody to share my burdens and my life.

Instantly, my mood changed from annoyed to grateful. Grateful that this is my life-surrounded by the paraphernalia of a good, gentle man.

I still don't love that there is a clump of hair in my shower every week. I still don't love that I trip over shoes sometimes on my way to the closet. However, instead of getting frustrated and demanding that my standards be met...I choose to be grateful for my life. For the chaos, the mess, the noise, and the love that fills it.

I wasn't always so lucky.