Tuesday, August 10, 2010

There's grass in my loofah

As I stood outside the shower the other day, brow furrowed and contemplating which of the four pink razors occupying the ledge had originally belonged to me, I thoughtlessly picked at the large nonsensical sponge known as a loofah. Grass – the cleanliness of my loofah had been violated by grass.

Perhaps it was from a few barefoot games of badminton, or from making myself at home on the ground to lay back and stare into an impressively starry sky. Or perhaps the loofah had come into contact with a relatively dirtier sibling, one of the owners of the dubiously unclaimed razor collection. Whatever the case, there it was: grass. In my loofah.

It’s the darnedest thing, really. Nothing goes untouched. Bits of life and living are tracked everywhere, inescapable. That’s the beauty of things, though, isn’t it? How dull life would be if I undertook no adventures or misadventures, no discussions held or challenges battled, no debates contemplated or thoughts sent whirling about my mind.

Sure, a flat tire in the midst of a road trip may be a bit troublesome – but finding within ourselves the ability to solve the problem was a huge ego boost, and we had some laughs along the way. And no, I suppose not everyone views the ability to argue as a positive sign in a relationship, as I do – but it signifies individual passion and a vital level of comfort and respect between the two that allows for disagreement without utter mutiny.

Humor, imperfections, and misadventures are and should be a part of everyday life, and welcomed as such. So what if there’s grass in my loofah – I’d rather experience what the world has to offer and suffer the ill effects than see nothing and go unscratched.

Here’s to bringing those signs and traces of experience along with us, wherever life leads.

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