Hospitality. Industry.

Christmas Day has passed, but, due to an odd bit of scheduling, the festivities ain't quite done at our house. 

We have relatives coming to visit tomorrow for a belated Christmas. There will be brunch. There will be gifts. There will be an inspection of the premises. You see, our guests are the sort who can and will comment on our homekeeping shortcomings: "It looks like you didn't rake up any of your leaves this fall.",  "Wow, you still haven't finished the floor in the entry?", "Doesn't it bug you to have all those pine needles on the floor?" 

Their visits are generally pleasant, but it's those little negative comments that tend to stick with me. It has gotten to the point where I can no longer separate their actual words from those of my own inner-critic. I have made a bit of a twisted parlor game of anticipating their negative comments and imagining their barbs in advance.

This morning, as I was vacuuming between the sofa cushions in preparation for their visit, I kept thinking: we love them, and they love us, so why is it such pain in the ass to have them come over? 

They are the guests we kinda dread. The ones we have to put on a bit of a show for. The ones we couldn't bear to have know that sometimes, on occasion, there are dirty dishes that sit by our sink for a day or two before we clean them. The ones we would rather die than have see the current state of our bathtub. You get the picture.

I just finished reading an amazing book called Snoop: What Your Stuff Says About You by Dr. Sam Gosling. In it he talks about how our personalities are reflected, unwittingly and on purpose, in the spaces we inhabit. For tomorrow's guests, I'm striving to make our home say, "We are responsible, tidy, and conscientious people. Bask in our cleanliness. We are, in all ways, good enough." Yes, our homes do say something about who we are, but why do I care so much more about what is says with some guests rather than others?

All this makes me think about what kind of a guest I aspire to be when I visit someone else's home. 

I want to be the one who could show up with little notice and not detect the slightest hint of Oh, crap! I need to scrub down the fridge! crossing your face as you open the front door. 

I want the to be the one who gets to see your folded piles of laundry stacked on a chair by the bed 'cause you're just too busy/lazy to put it in that dresser that's only about five feet away. 

I want to be the one who gets to know that you do, in fact, read People magazine. And not just in your dentist's waiting room. You unashamedly subscribe, and, baby, I totally dig that about you.

I want to be the guest you can be your true, human self in front of. That's what it means, in my book, to be truly close to someone - to let them know the real you, not just the person you think they want you to be. 

Who are the people in your life you are brave enough to be yourself in front of?