Doormat and Broom

A walk around the block is enough to tell me how much, in these public lives we lead, we owe it to each other to make our own little contributions of neatness, order, and beauty. Everyone benefits from flowers, for instance, a bit of greenery, and a swept sidewalk. Even bare unplanted space that’s raked periodically and kept free of litter is a positive statement that’s good for the eye and spirit. What we do for ourselves in this regard, we also do for others; it shows we recognize that our actions radiate outward, like ripples in a pond. Thoreau writes about the movement of his boat and oar, and how it affects the farthest reaches of Walden. It’s the same for our conscious acts of beauty in all their varieties and forms, and for our lack of attention and lazy acts of carelessness. Obviously, we feel better when we do what we can, within our abilities and limitations. Fanciness is never a requirement. It’s a matter of being aware that we’re not alone, but part of a community. A clean doormat and a broom is proof we haven’t given up, that we haven’t been overwhelmed by powerful forces that want us to believe we can’t make a difference. Something as simple as personal cleanliness, neat clothing however old or well-worn, and good posture, is enough. Letting ourselves go only makes it easier for others to do the same.

That said, I can still admire and enjoy a disheveled person and his or her trashy yard, when I see a bright light in their eyes that shows someone is home. How do I know they’re not engrossed in study, or in writing a novel, or are the best, most faithful companions of their grandchildren? Maybe they’re kind to animals; maybe birds eat from their hands. And so none of this is about judgment. Whatever we do or choose not to do is good, as long as we’re aware, or at least occasionally trying to be.

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