I’m cleaning the French doors today. After all, the house is on the market and wants to put its best foot forward. Now down to the last panel, I step back to see the difference … and drop the roll of paper towels to the floor, utterly dumbfounded.
For an embarrassing amount of time, we’ve lived with windows coated by raindrops and leaf bits, dirt, grime, dust, long-lived cobwebs, and dog nose prints, inside and out. And while I’ve on occasion briefly noticed the view was a little veiled, I never took the time to change it. I made do. I settled. My streaky, hazy view became the norm, my reality. It took an outside situation — the house going on the market — to force me out of the rut and into action.
Clarity. It slaps me up the side of the head. The sweep of window cleaner across glass restores truth. Nothing outside has changed — the view 10 minutes ago was the same as now. The difference is merely in how I perceive it. My reality has shifted.
So I’m grateful, today, for the quantum flirt my cleaning spree has created. Deciphering and understanding what’s real and true and good requires not only noticing and questioning but staying in the moment to sort out the questions, clear off the detritus, and wipe down the glass. And that is a never-ending journey in itself.