I started with my table linens today. Following my now habitual routine, I brought everything out from various hiding places and stacked it all on the dining room table. (Except for the couple outdoor tablecloths I keep stored on the patio. I’m all for making this a complete assessment…but not enough to shovel out a couple feet of snow to bring those ones in.)
What at first glance looked like a pile of tablecloths, runners, napkins, etc., were also memories of special dinners, family moments and parties. I held up a pair of green tablecloths I had purchased for a graduation party because they matched the school colors and thought, “St. Patrick’s Day is coming up, I should keep these out to use for dinner that day.” As I started to set aside the tablecloths, my brain flashed back to a conversation with my family a year or two ago.
We were at a party and my step-sisters and sister-in-law were joking about how they were going to show up to the next event wearing on-theme, over-the-top costumes. I glanced around and recognized that my sister and I, as well as a few other family members, had dressed to match the colors of the party. Technically, we hadn’t coordinated, or even discussed, our matching outfits. We hadn’t texted, emailed, or talked about coordinating, but we knew the colors and theme of the party and had spent so many years coordinating events with every detail on theme, we habitually coordinated our clothing as well. If I gave it any thought, I likely considered this a fun little tradition. As my sister’s family says, “we love a good theme.”
In that moment however, I realized that our clothing choices were not serving to support a fun party environment, they were uniforms signaling membership in an exclusive club. ‘On Wednesdays we wear pink’ and at parties we dress on theme. My choices were making the people I wanted to build relationships with feel excluded.
Sorting through my stack of linens today brought flashbacks of other unintended exclusions.
The dinner party I hosted a number of years ago, where I set out china and shiny cloth napkins, fresh flowers and candles. When it came time to eat, my normally boisterous guests sat down stiffly, gingerly touching only what they needed to touch and eating in uncharacteristic quietness. My extravagance created a barrier. I was not honoring and including my guests. I was showing off, and they were uncomfortable.
I love exploring creativity through event planning and gatherings of all sizes and purposes. I love crafting all the big extravagances and little touches that can spark delight. I still want events like that to be a part of my life but in a way that is welcoming and inclusive of my guests, not shining a spotlight on my talents, skills, and possessions.
I’ve decided I don’t need to hold onto green tablecloths for St. Patrick’s Day. Not just because I don’t need to dedicate storage space for them, but because I don’t need an arsenal of color coordinated linens, clothes or anything else to host a welcoming gathering. I don’t need 12 shiny yellow cloth napkins and a collection of fancy table runners to show guests I care. The reality is, instead of fostering an environment of interactions, they more often fostered environments of self-conscious fears about fatal run-ins between satin and tomato sauce. I’ll still use cloth napkins, a habit I began a few years ago in an effort to reduce waste, but I’m sticking mostly to my collection of inexpensive bandanas, instead of fussy napkins.
Uncovering Real 