Making Peace With Dust

There was a time not so awful long ago when I thought everything had so be so-so. My home was clean and organized. The floors were mopped. There was no dust lingering on furniture.

But something changed. 

Now I often sit on my couch and stare at the dust on my coffee table. And instead of jumping right up like I once would have and grabbing a rag to clean it, I just sit here. 

Dust particles seem to fascinate me as they drift in the sunlight from my patio doors. Nothing immediately moves me to get up.

I was reading an article in the New Yorker about a woman liberating herself from her bra. And we're not referring to one of those women with small breasts either. We're talking triple D.

One day she got sick of the trappings of the bra that signified she was a part of society that follows the unwritten rules. And so she ditched it. If you'd like to read the piece, click here. It's a good one.

I hate wearing a bra. In fact, unless I go out, I don't wear one. I will admit that from time to time when I'm just going through a drive-thru for something to eat or to pick up prescriptions, I often don't wear it. 

But I'm still circumspect enough to put my arm in the window so that my "bra-lessness" goes undetected. There is still some degree of pride involved.

As for that dust, I have kind of made peace with it. I'll put it this way: we're not arch enemies. We can abide the presence of one another.

I don't know. I just don't beat myself up about it anymore. My floors need mopping. I spy dust from my perch on the couch. 

But I'd rather turn my head and watch the birds hop about the patio. Or the squirrels race across the fence.

I'm kind of surprised I've gotten to this place in life.

There is so much I could be doing. Sweeping the patio. Cleaning the coffee maker. 

But instead I just sit here and contemplate life. I guess with age comes acceptance and less urgency about certain things. 

I've accepted much that I once worried about. The law of gravity that is taking over my body. The tummy that can shake like a bowl of Jello. The black hairs that sprout on my chin.  

I figure there's just no point in worrying about things that are imminent in life.

So I'll just sit here in my bra-less state and stare at the floating dust motes.