Removing the Shag

When Eric and I first moved in together 100,000 years ago, we were faced with the task of purchasing our first vacuum.  When it came to choosing between two different Miele models, the salesman explained that one was better for hard floors, another superior for shag carpet.

We laughed and chose the hard floor model believing that with our aesthetic sensibilities, we would never have carpet.  The joke was on us, as every single place we lived after that had shag carpet.  Until last week.

I came home from the Teacher Training one evening and Eric had removed all the unnecessary columns in the house.  The next day, he riped out all the white shag carpet.  We now live in a 1964 concrete and glass design studio that finally feels like home.

But for over 4 years, we lived with ugly pillars that we were afraid might be structural and white shag carpet we were hesitant to rip up.  We felt stuck because we did not feel we had the "solution" to what we would do once we ripped up the carpet.  The "what if it sucks worse" mantra can be strong.  So we took the passive aggressive route and allowed the carpet to get more and more disgusting until we almost had no choice.  

So I now have a new term, "the shag relationship."  Relationships that are initially fuzzy and soft. Easy to lie down on but are simultaneously collecting and hiding the filth.  Vacuuming and steam cleaning only go so deep.  Old patterns fester.  Ripping it up seems so drastic.  The nail strips are sharp and concrete can feel cold.  And even though you are aware of your suffering, at least it is familiar and known.  

The removal of that beast in our house has unleashed a wave of creativity and revealed a new vibrational clarity that had been muffled in the shag.