Once upon a time, on a continent far, far away, I lived out a part of me that has been fairly covert since coming to America. My small apartment in Africa was often a hub of activity. Hospitality was a glove my hand slipped into easily.
Newly arrived staff came over for a meal as they were gaining their bearings. Friends crashed on my futon for days while their places dried out from burst pipes. Department meetings were conducted over noon meals. It wasn’t shocking to arrive home to find a student stealing a few quiet moments in my apartment or to discover a Peace Corps friend arrived early for a weekend visit.  Time, food, and people always seemed to be in abundance at my place.
And then I moved to Colorado. My relationships were scattered rather than concentrated. When I finally got my own place, renovation was the name of the game.  As life patterns settled and the pace picked up, hospitality withered.
From time to time I hosted people in my house, but it was the exception not the rule. I lamented the loss of my home as a place of hospitality as I’d known it in Africa. I bought in to the idea that my house needed to be neat and tidy in order to invite people over—especially people I don’t know well.
If you know anything about me, you know “neat and tidy” are not my default modes.
The last two weeks have changed all that. It started with my interns wanting to watch videos. They came over Sunday night. We made guacamole and another dip, watched a movie while we ate lots of chips and dips, and talked for hours. Tuesday night they came over for dinner and a movie with a few more friends who’d helped with my programs this summer. We basically repeated the process again Wednesday.
A few days later one of my friends came to visit and base out of my house for a week. More and more friends came. We grilled. We went to fun restaurants and spent hours hanging out at my house and laughing with even more friends.
Slowly (but rather suddenly) I realized I was more like me than I’d been in years.
I’ve decided hospitality is more about inviting people into your mess than into an illusion of perfection. There may be things out of place, a dishwasher that needs to be emptied, and a stack of magazines waiting to be read, but there also will be laughter, good food and an enthusiastic welcome.
Let me know when you’re coming to visit!
photo courtesy of susanaudrey
7 responses to “More Like Me”
I cherish the memories of “chef Paul” chez toi and the millions of the world’s problems we solved at your table. 🙂 Steve comes down to your neck of the woods weekly. I should have him drop me off one of these days for a few hours of ‘old times’.
Love you!
Sheryl:
I totally get you on this post. We finally had to get to the point where people were welcome anytime in our home. We “attempt” to keep it straightened up but never allow disarray to be a reason not to have someone visit. There is immense joy in having people in your home to talk to and visit with. And the next time you are in Atlanta…Come on by!!!
Chef Paul made many things possible! We did solve many problems, didn’t we? It would be great to have you here when Steve comes this way. Just make sure I’m actually here! Love you, too!
Hey, Chris! It’s good to know there are kindred spirits around. Next time I’m in Atlanta I’ll be there!
Wow, that sounds like a lot of fun!
Amen to that! I have actually stopped cleaning BEFORE people come over because I came to the realization that when people come, relax and truly enjoy they naturally leave the place a little more lived in. So, I save time and stress. But, then again, this is ME so I do have a cleaning schedule. The point is – the more lived in the better! People come to see YOU and part of you is how you live. I’ve always loved your house and always feel comfortable and at home there. Let me know when Sarah can come add to your lived in-ness and I can sleep in that most comfy of beds – which in itself deserves a blog post!
I am on my way right now. 🙂