Footprints in a Rug

Footprints in a Rug source: thisnext.com

I knew a woman who kept a hair brush under her couch -- a white couch, before which lay a white rug. When a visitor got up from the couch, say, to visit the kitchen or the toilet, she would slip the brush out from under the edge of the couch, brush the person's footprints from the rug as they walked across the room, and before the person returned, she'd quickly slide the brush back into its hiding place -- all the while believing she would not be observed.

You felt easily, distinctly, correctly that she would rather dwell in a castle alone -- that your existence was messing up her ivory tower.  There was little-to-no room in her life for the footprints of others.

This all sounds, of course, like Hyacinth Bucket (pronounced "buck-ett," not "Boo-kay," please) -- the narcissistically fastidious character on the old Brit-com "Keeping up Appearances." For me, the fictional Hyacinth is all too real.

A Martyr?
It's Someone Who Lives with a Saint. visual source: thiswastv

You see, this true story isn't all that rare: the couch, the brush, and the rug (sans footprints).  A parody (Hyacinth in this case) plays off of realities and exaggerates them, creating a caricature of a real person or event.  In this case it's just that the parodic Hyacinth is parallel to, not an exaggeration of, the woman with the brush.  That makes the story not so much bathetic [link] but pathetic and, ultimately, tragic.  How intimately can you enter into such a connection, being reminded at every step that you're only messing up someone's life?  How many deep relationships can that person have?  I don't know.  But our relationships all bring footprints that we either try to brush away or, conversely, value -- and some footprints remain whether we like them or not.

How do they work?  Relationships operate in direct proportion to our own and others' capabilities.  That is, we accept our loved ones' and friends' capabilities or incapabilities.  We welcome and admire their abilities; we tolerate and assist them when they are incapable of something.  So too our friends accept (or refuse to accept) our own capabilities or incapabilities.  Out of respect, we tend to leave the muddy boots of our incapabilities at the door.  But very seldom can anyone change incapabilities quickly and permanently.  They may change over time; they may not.  Most often the person you first got to know is what you get -- for better or worse.  Still, everyone we know is going to leave footprints in our lives.

To Brush or Not to Brush? source: brigittesbrushes

And we tend to erase some footprints (our own metaphorical hair brush stashed somewhere out of sight) as people will naturally come and go from our lives; some prints we cherish, others we erase after little time -- when, say, temporal acquaintances have gone on with their lives and have left but little mark in ours.  Others are more permanent, leaving clear indication they walk with us and remain in our lives.

And incapabilities? Just as we have friends whose capabilities raise us up in life -- challenge us and complement our being -- there are those "false friends" (faux amis) whose presence in our lives are only and ultimately negative for the marks they leave.  (We don't always recognize such "friends" immediately, and how is it that others see them clearly when we can't?)

In cases where a false friend becomes an impediment to our lives, or stain our existence -- well, then it's best to try to brush their presence out permanently.  After all, being a doormat indicates only a lack of healthy self-respect and common sense.  And they who would walk all over us?  They are incapable of recognizing what damage they bring into our lives -- and perhaps cannot be brought to a place where they cease to deface, let alone place value on, the welcome we lay before them.

 Defaced and Damaged? Repairable? source:stainmaster

We put out a welcome mat for people who enter our lives; we create a place where they can be comfortable with both us and with themselves, a place where we may walk, where we may be, together in life.  The goal isn't to remain pristine, without a mark -- we bear the weight of others as they bear our weight, and we all show the marks.  Ultimately we must choose who will leave footprints in us, but we can't always choose how long the prints will remain, brush as we may.  Sometimes, for good or ill, footprints remain, deep, light, sometimes staining, but more: often they are favored and memorable marks we'd not live without.